


The First Condition of Immortality is Death

by OneHandedBooks



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Actual Plot!, Always the D/s undertones with these two, Angst, Armchair Therapy, Bottom Hannibal, Bottom Will, Canon-Typical Cannibalism, Canon-Typical Violence, D/s undertones, Exceptionally unlikely symptoms of empathy disorder, Frottage, Gen, Helpless Hannibal, Jealousy, M/M, Past Underage, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, References to Past Child Abuse, References to bullying, Season/Series 04, Serious hurt/Limited comfort, Short Chapters, Slow Burn, Top Hannibal, Top Will, Will Graham Helps His Own Damn Self, a variety of improbable sex acts committed by fictional people, an unexpected amount of rimming, and Hannibal, crossing boundaries is different than violating them, excessively dubious plot devices, inappropriate therapeutic techniques, really an embarassing amount of porn, sex is not a suitable substitute for therapy, so much porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2016-08-26
Packaged: 2018-05-08 03:19:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 45
Words: 92,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5481314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneHandedBooks/pseuds/OneHandedBooks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Hannibal’s heart stopped for the first time after he’d dragged himself and Will out of the frigid ocean onto the rocky shore at the bottom of the bluff.</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>*Title from <em>Unkempt Thoughts</em> by Stanislaw J. Lec</p><p>Explicit from Ch 26.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Hannibal’s heart stopped for the first time after he’d dragged himself and Will out of the frigid ocean onto the rocky shore at the bottom of the bluff. Will restarted it with an eternity of compressions that sent pain screaming through the torn muscles in his chest, his broken ribs. He had pulled them resolutely down to death and Hannibal had ransomed him from the sea anyway. He would return the favor. It never even occurred to him not to.

Hannibal rolled onto his uninjured side and coughed out a flood of seawater. Before he passed out, he gasped, “Boat. Two miles.”

Will looked both ways down the pebble beach. The bright moonlight reflecting off the pounding waves and the cut rocks gave the landscape a dazzling hallucinatory look, both overbright and too dark. To the right of their cove was a sheer cliff face. To the left, shielded from the top by a sharp rock outcropping, was a very narrow path, nearly covered now by the incoming tide.

Will staggered along this path with his arm wrapped protectively over his ribs. It was slow going and as he stumbled over the slick, treacherous terrain he realized that in addition to the multiple stab wounds and the broken ribs, he was pretty sure he’d scratched a lung and fractured his ankle as well.

As he came around a curve in the rockface he saw a jagged black hulk floating alongside a short dock in a little half moon bay.

The hell is that? he thought. Some kind of fishing trawler?

Will was considering this development when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned around to see a slim figure materialize out of the darkness at the base of the cliff.

Will’s face was swelling around the deep gash in his cheek and he spoke with great effort. “Chiyoh?”

When he called her name, she became clearer as though she was stepping forward through a fall of clear water. She wore the silk dressing gown she’d had on when she pushed him off the train to Florence. It flowed in liquid curves around her body despite the still air.

Her eyes went wide as she took in his ruined cheek and blood-stained shirt. She touched her own cheek with one trembling hand. She tracked his arm where it was wrapped around his ribs and the awkward way he was holding his left foot.

“Hannibal?” she asked.

“Two miles back.” Will turned his head and spit a mouthful of blood into the sea.

“Alive?”

Will nodded. Then he whispered, “I think so. When I left, he still was.”

Will looked over Chiyoh’s shoulder at the path behind her and realized it must trail up along the bluffs to the back of Hannibal’s safe house. Had she been watching for them, or for Hannibal at least, to come down that way? Hannibal hadn’t given any indication of that at all.

Chiyoh looked over at the dock then back at Will. “You can sail?” she asked.

Will thought about his face, his chest, his ankle. Laughter bubbled up before he could stop it, forcing blood from his mouth. Then he nodded, unable to stop giggling. He realized vaguely that he must be going into shock.

“Yeah. If you can help with some of it, I can sail.”

He looked back along the narrow path leading to the pebble beach where he’d left Hannibal. There’s no way I’m going to be able to drag him two miles back over those slick stones, Will thought. The water was unfathomably deep where they went into the sea, but shaded gradually to shallows over the rock shelf at the very base of the cliff. He didn’t recall any big rocks right at the shore there either. There might be a way...

He rubbed a hand over his face, thinking. “Dinghy?” he asked.

Chiyoh nodded over her shoulder. As Will’s eyes adjusted, he saw the faint outline of a small inflatable in the water at the edge of the larger boat. He looked at the cresting waves and considered the three of them crammed into that precarious little craft. Hannibal, dead weight. Himself, one-armed. Jesus Christ, he thought.

“Ok,” he said, seeing no alternative. “Let’s do it.”

Will walked to the dock and slid across the dinghy’s curving inflated gunwale. He gestured to Chiyoh with his good arm. “Let’s go.”

Chiyoh stepped in and set her rifle on the fiberglass bottom.

Will blinked. Where had the rifle come from?

When Chiyoh was settled in the bow, Will cranked the small outboard motor, untied the boat from its mooring, and hauled in the folding anchor. He took them along the shore until he saw the edge of the cove outlined in the moonlight. He slid the dinghy carefully along the narrow V and brought the small craft in tight to the shore.

“There,” he mumbled to Chiyoh, pointing at the outline of Hannibal’s body on the beach. “See him?”

He unfolded the little anchor and threw it over the side then stepped out into the shallow water. He staggered across the rocks toward Hannibal, wincing as he put his weight on his ankle. Chiyoh slid out behind him, silent. Surefooted as a little deer on the uneven ground.

Will knelt down beside Hannibal feeling the small, wet stones dig into his knees. Hannibal’s lips and eyelids were purple, his skin pale. I bought this, Will thought. I own it.

Will put a hand to Hannibal’s chest and cocked his head, listening. Then he nodded at Chiyoh. “Alive.”

“You need to stop the bleeding,” he heard Hannibal say.

Will looked down at Hannibal, startled, but he was clearly still unconscious. Then he looked up and saw that Hannibal was standing where Chiyoh had been. He was handsomely dressed, uninjured, and entirely out of place. His freshly shined Oxfords disappeared into a mass of dank seaweed.

“Take off your shirt,” Hannibal said, looking vaguely over Will’s shoulder and out to sea. “Wring it out as well as you can. Fold it. Put it over the wound. Use my belt to hold it tight.”

Will blinked, trying to focus. He pulled off his tattered shirt, wrung it out, and folded it into a thick pad. He pressed it over the gunshot wound in Hannibal’s side. He unbuckled Hannibal’s belt and wrapped it around his middle, cinching it hard over the makeshift bandage.

When he looked up again, Chiyoh was right where he’d left her. The impeccable Hannibal of therapy sessions past was gone.

“Hannibal,” Will said faintly to the wounded man on the ground.

Hannibal didn’t move.

Will cleared his saltburned throat. “Hannibal,” he called.

Hannibal’s eyes fluttered open. He looked up at Will with a distant shocky expression.

“Sorry,” Will whispered. “You…” He stopped and turned to the side to clear his mouth of blood again. “Have to help us now. Just a little. Then you can rest.”

Hannibal nodded, barely awake and shaking.

Will slid his good arm under Hannibal’s back and pulled him to his feet. They both groaned in pain as they limped the few feet to the boat. With great effort, Will manhandled Hannibal into the bottom of the inflatable before sliding in around him. Then he hauled anchor and took them back through the crashing surf towards the dock.

As he navigated the waves, he kept an eye on Hannibal. He was unconscious again, but breathing. Still breathing. Moments later he pulled up safely alongside the trawler and tied off.

“I’m going up,” he told Chiyoh. “I’ll drop the tender lift. We’ll haul Hannibal up with the boat. Easier…easier than the ladder.”

Will looked down. “Hannibal?”

Hannibal's eyes fluttered open then fell closed.

“Stay flat. Don’t move.”

“As you say, Will,” Hannibal whispered.

Will went up the dock ladder, trying not to put too much weight on his left foot or his right arm, and climbed aboard the trawler. He noted that the deck lights were hooded to cut down on spill, hard to see from the coast, a smuggler's rig. He flicked them on and used the tender lift to haul the dinghy up onto the trawler’s deck with Hannibal stretched out in the bottom.

With considerable difficulty, Will maneuvered Hannibal into the tiny pilothouse and laid him out on a padded bench. Will and Chiyoh tore into the storage compartments, pulling out papers, towels, blankets, a small space heater, a battered metal first aid kit.

Will looked at the kit in Chiyoh’s hand and started laughing again. Then he bent forward and coughed until he thought he would faint.

“Will?” Hannibal called softly.

“Yeah, yeah,” Will said, still chuckling, his mouth black with blood. “I’m ok. Don’t talk.”

Will unsnapped the clasps on the box and inventoried their supplies. He pulled out a pair of round-tipped trauma shears and knelt by Hannibal.

“I’m cutting these clothes off. Then I’ll bandage your side. Ok?”

“Shivering,” Hannibal murmured.

“I know you’re cold. Hang on.” Will started to unbuckle the belt holding the rudimentary bandage over Hannibal’s gunshot wound then he realized it was his hands that were shaking, so pale they were almost blue.

Hannibal shook his head. ”You. You’re cold. Shock.” He cleared his throat. “You’re in shock.”

Will chuckled weakly. “Yeah, we’re all in shock. Be quiet now.”

“Take the belt off. Don’t. Not the…the shirt. Keep pressure on that. Bandage over it. Get warm. Water.”

Will nodded, but Hannibal didn’t see it. His eyes were closed again.

Will cut up the middle of Hannibal’s sweater and down both legs of the sodden trousers. He pulled the scraps of wet cloth away. Then he stopped, his mouth tight. Hannibal’s body was marked everywhere with massive bruises already darkening to plum.

When Chiyoh returned to the tophouse, Will was still kneeling at Hannibal’s side. Fading. Shears slipping from one hand. His other hand laid gently on Hannibal’s arm. Chiyoh shook Will’s shoulder wordlessly. The pain in his chest brought consciousness roaring back, but he feared it wouldn’t last. Everything looked grainy and bright now. His joints felt like they were filled with ground glass.

Will used the stack of towels he’d found to chafe warmth back into Hannibal’s unconscious body. He was largely silent and spared little thought for Chiyoh while he worked. There was only what had to be done. The step by step of necessity. Nothing else.

Will folded a dry hand towel, as Hannibal had directed, and put it over the tattered shirt already covering the gunshot wound. He wrapped an Ace bandage tight around it. When he had Hannibal somewhat stabilized, he fired up the small space heater and stood up to assess his own injuries.

Will awkwardly used the rounded scissors to cut his undershirt off. He unbuckled his belt one-handed and leaned heavily on Chiyoh’s shoulder to pull off his shoes and pants. He stood in the cabin shivering in his shorts and Chiyoh handed him one of the remaining towels. By the time he was done drying his salt sticky skin, the tiny space was more than warm enough.

Will took the small bottle of alcohol from the first aid kit and poured it into the deep, seeping wound in his shoulder. He screamed behind gritted teeth, which re-opened the clotted slash in his cheek. Goddamn it, he thought.

He looked over at Chiyoh for help, but she was gone again. In her place was Beverly, dressed in her slim, red leather jacket, the fabric sliced through and rearranged, plated like armor. She was smiling and looking slightly over Will’s shoulder. Will stumbled backwards towards the far wall of the cabin, gasping. He doubled over in pain when his back hit an open compartment door.

“You need to stop that bleeding, Will,” Beverly said kindly. “There are gauze pads in the first aid kit. Stack a couple of them over the chest wound, wrap an Ace bandage around, pull it hard and tight.”

Will shook his head, confused, but did as she directed. When he was done, he looked into a small metal mirror mounted over the bench to inspect the burning slash in his cheek.

Beverly looked over Will’s shoulder at their wavering, merged reflection. “I think you’ll live,” she said with her familiar tough girl grin. She put a comforting hand on his shoulder. It landed light as smoke.

“Yeah,” he agreed wearily. “I’ll live.”

Will forced himself to clean the wound in his cheek with a gauze pad dipped in alcohol. Then he laid a clean, dry one over the cut and taped it down. He sat down heavily in the captain’s chair when he was done. There were no bandages left in the little first aid kit so he cut his undershirt into long strips and wrapped his ankle as well as he could.

When he was done, he took the papers he’d pulled out of the storage cubbies and spread them on the console. There were docking papers, tide tables, passports. Passports with his picture. Passports with Hannibal's picture. Concealed under the edge of a nautical map, a passport with Abigail's picture. All dated four years earlier. Ownership papers for a Swan 44 in dry dock near Cape Hatteras. Charts navigating from Hatteras to ports in Italy, in Spain, in South America. A multiplicity of options. Chiyoh stood silently at his shoulder. She covered Abigail's passport with one hand. With the other, she pointed to the charts, the pink slip, and the remaining passports in turn until Will saw the plan materialize clearly through the fog of agony and adrenaline.

Will put his head in his hands. “We won’t…won’t make it to Hatteras,” he told Chiyoh, voice bordering on panic. “Hannibal’s lost a lot of blood already. There might be internal bleeding too. I don’t know. We need help.”

Chiyoh answered him with Hannibal's hurt and halting voice. “Fort Story. Dr. Emily Andres. Navy doctor. Friend from Hopkins.”

Will turned to look at Hannibal, who was struggling for consciousness again.  “Near Cape Henry?” Will asked him. “In the Chesapeake?”

Hannibal nodded then continued. "Cell phone. Tell Emily I’m hurt. Ask her for help." 

Any sane person would turn us in immediately, friend or not, Will thought.

Hannibal saw this on his face and shook his head. "Safe," he whispered.

Other than dragging Hannibal up the back bay path and waiting for the FBI to show up, Will did not see any other options. He would run this plan until it ran out. 

“Ok,” he said. “Ok. We’ll try for that.”


	2. Chapter 2

Will found the burner and used it to call Andres. She listened quietly, as though she had been waiting for this call. She asked a very few questions in a surprisingly rough, almost masculine voice, and then gave him the coordinates to her family's vacation home near Fort Story, about four hours away. 

Will hung up. He swayed, unsteady on his feet and nearly delirious with pain and exhaustion.

“Will,” Beverly said sharply, standing at his shoulder again. “You need to rehydrate. You need water. Find the galley.”

“In a minute,” he responded.

Will hobbled back out onto the deck to survey the boat. He turned to see Chiyoh standing silent at his back. “There’s a good motor,” he told her. “We don’t need the sails right now. That’s good. Easier. I’ll… I’ll set a course. Help me...steer, ok?”

She inclined her head in agreement.

They returned to the tophouse where Will showed Chiyoh the rudiments of maneuvering the little trawler. He reviewed the charts and set the boat’s navigation system on a course for Fort Story. Then he limped over to Hannibal, knelt down, and shook him awake again.

“Sorry,” Will said in a gritty hiss. “We’ll get…underway in a minute. You need water.”

“ _You_ need water, Will,” Beverly insisted from somewhere behind him.

He ignored her. He cradled Hannibal’s head in his arm and held a cool bottle of water from the small galley fridge to Hannibal’s lips. Hannibal drank it slowly until it was gone.

“One more, ok?”

Hannibal tried to focus on Will. “Salt,” he said, licking his chapped lips. “In the water. Salt and sugar. For shock.”

Will nodded and turned to do as Hannibal had directed, but Chiyoh was already working on it. She’d spun the caps off several bottles of water and drunk from each one in turn until there was space to add a small measure of salt and sugar. She shook one to mix it and handed it to Will. Will helped Hannibal drain it.

“Now you,” Beverly insisted, kneeling beside Will with her back to Hannibal. “You need at least two. Drink them slowly so you don’t puke.”

Will drank two bottles of the makeshift re-hydration mix. It flamed against the shredded inside of his cheek and he struggled to keep it down. His eyelids were heavy. The last of the adrenaline was leaking from him like sand from a stage weight. He looked over at Beverly, who was Chiyoh, who was Abigail, who was Chiyoh again.

“I think….” He paused, blinking slowly. “I think I might faint.” He reached up and tapped the navigation screen. “Just remember….” Before he could tell Chiyoh what she needed to remember, however, his eyes rolled back and he collapsed on the floor beside Hannibal’s bench.

When he woke, the sky was still dark. He could see individual splinters in the worn wooden floorboards under his cheek. Pain came back before anything else. A line of fire along the side of his face. Coals smoldering in the gash in his chest. Ice wrapped around his ribs, his ankle. And everywhere a deep, sickening ache. He groaned and struggled to sit up.

There was a grey wool blanket draped over him, which fell off as he fought to his feet. He stood swaying and looked around. Chiyoh was standing at the helm like a delicate teak figurehead. They were still in dock. She glanced back over her shoulder when Will woke.

“Hannibal?” Will asked her, fighting to think past the unbearable pounding in his head. It felt like one side of his face wasn’t moving and he could barely understand his own words.

“Alive. Still alive,” she said.

Will looked down at his watch, but it had stopped at 10:10pm. So much for waterproof, he thought.

“Was I out long?” he asked Chiyoh, struggling to speak more clearly.

“Maybe half an hour,” she said.

Will threw back a handful of Tylenol from the first aid kit and drank two more bottles of mixed water. “Ok,” he said finally. “I’m taking us out.”

After Will had set them on course, he asked Chiyoh to hold the wheel for a moment. Then he walked out onto the deck and looked back at the house on the bluff. It floated alone in the velvet dark. Just the living room lights were on. There were no police lights yet, no sirens. There were no other lights along the coast anywhere near them. They might have been the only people left in the world.

Will walked back into the pilothouse and engaged the trawler's basic autopilot. He set his hands on the wheel and looked out into the dark. He faded in and out of conscious awareness, but his hands stayed steady, and they made Cape Henry before dawn. 


	3. Chapter 3

By the time Will steered them through the winding waterways leading to Andres’s place, he was nauseated and delirious. Nearly white with pain and fatigue. A fine red line bled through the gauze covering his cheek. The circles under his eyes stood out like bruises.

Will guided the little ship neatly up to the deep water dock. He looked around to ask Chiyoh or Beverly to help him with the tie off, but he and Hannibal were alone. There was blood splattered all over the cabin. A fine bronchial spray on the floorboards. His desperate handprints on the charts, on the handles of the storage compartments, on the first aid kit. A single set of reddish footprints on the floor, crossing from the door, to Hannibal, to the helm, and back.

Will sagged at the wheel, bereft at the sudden loss of his crew. With faint sorrowing resolve, he made ready to tie off alone. As he walked out onto the deck, he saw a tall, slim woman step out of the darkness at the edge of the dock. She called softly for the bow line in her unusual, gravelly voice and Will tossed it over. Between them, they got the trawler secured.

Dr. Andres climbed aboard quickly with barely a look at Will. “Hannibal?” she asked as she brushed by him.

Will gestured to the little pilothouse and followed along behind her.

He watched from the doorway as Dr. Andres knelt next to Hannibal to triage his injuries. She leaned forward to listen to Hannibal’s heart and her dark hair fell around her shoulders like a mantle. In the warm glow of the cabin light, vignetted by deep shadows, Andres and Hannibal looked like Rembrandt’s _Anatomy Lesson_.

Blood was still leaking from the gunshot wound in Hannibal's side. It had nearly soaked both layers of the thick cloth dressing and a scatter of red petals was blooming slowly through the wrapping. His skin was pale, almost grey. His seemingly endless vitality was finally fading. For the first time since Will had met him, he looked old.

Andres moved her stethoscope from Hannibal’s heart to his lungs, listening. She laid her hands gently over the deep bruises covering his chest and thighs, assessing the depth of the damage. She noted the stained wrapping around his abdomen with a solemn look. The flesh of his belly had started to swell hot and red against the bandages and the straining edges were beginning to sink into his skin. Andres touched the lowermost wrapping as if to loosen it and Hannibal shrieked, a horrible haunted sound. Will's eyes went wide, flashing from Hannibal to Andres and back. Andres waited, watching Hannibal intently, but he fell quiet again, still unconscious. She pressed her fingertips to his pulse and paused, counting, then took a penlight out of her pocket and shone it into each of Hannibal’s eyes. When she was satisfied, she stood up and walked over to Will, frozen in the doorway.

Dr. Andres grasped Will’s chin in her fingers, turning his head away from Hannibal so she could look at the swelling in his cheek. He flinched back and she tightened her grip.

“Be still,” she ordered.

Then she let go and pressed her fingers gently around the edges of the dressing covering the stab wound below his collarbone. She probed the bruised muscle over his ribs and looked down at his wrapped ankle.

“You need fluids," she concluded brusquely when she was finished with her assessment. “Blood too probably. But you’ll live,”

“And Hannibal?” Will rasped, leaning against the cabin door to stay upright.

Andres looked at Will for a long moment, assessing him with cold curiosity. Will summoned his remaining reserves and held her gaze, letting her look into him. He felt time stretch and collapse as he waited for her to speak.

“Yeah, he’ll live,” Andres said finally. She turned to look at Hannibal again. “Probably,” she amended. Then she glanced back at Will over her shoulder. “Help me get him inside. I’ll do what I can for him and then I’ll see about you.”


	4. Chapter 4

Will and Dr. Andres carried Hannibal off the boat and up the dock. He barely stirred when they moved him and his breathing was shallow. Dr. Andres directed Will to the dining room.

“Put him on the table,” she grunted.

After they’d muscled Hannibal onto the polished surface, Dr. Andres stepped back and put her hands on her knees, panting. “I’m out of shape,” she breathed. “Ok. You,” she said, standing up and pointing at Will. “You look like shit. Sit down before you fall over.”

Andres disappeared and then returned with a bottle of Pedialyte. “Drink this. Then you’re going to help me, ok?”

Will nodded.

Before Andres could say anything else, Hannibal suddenly stopped breathing altogether.

“Goddamn it,” Andres said. She put her stethoscope to Hannibal’s chest. “I was worried about that.”

She ran to the back of the house and returned with a portable AED. It took two attempts, but she finally got Hannibal’s heart started again.

“Sinus rhythm,” Andres said confidently, pulling the defibrillator pads off. 

Will collapsed into a chair beside the table and curved his fingers around Hannibal’s wrist, holding them over his pulse. 

“You said he got shot?” Andres asked.

Will nodded.

“You?”

Will shook his head. “Stabbed. In the face. Chest. Then we fell.“

“He’s in shock,” Andres said. “And it looks like he’s lost a lot of blood. We need….” She trailed off, tapping her fingers on the table.  “What we really need is a transfusion.”

“Can you...use my blood?” Will asked softly.

She gave Will an appraising look. “What blood type is Hannibal?”

“I don’t know.”

Andres shook her head. “Too dangerous.”

 “I’m O,” Will said. “Universal… donor.”

“You’ve already lost enough blood, Mr. Graham.”

Will started to tell her to do it, when she shook her head. “It doesn’t matter right now anyway. I don’t have a transfusion kit here. Besides, the last time somebody did a person to person transfusion was probably during the goddamn Civil War.”

Dr. Andres walked into the kitchen, still talking. “I should be able to get a kit from base. Blood too. But later. At the shift change. I need to deal with the bullet wound before we do anything else anyway.”

Will rested his forehead on his outstretched arm and let his eyes flutter shut. He was vaguely aware of the sound of running water. When Andres returned to the dining room, Will looked up at her wearily.

Andres pulled on a pair of blue nitrile gloves, spread a sterile drape over an empty bar cart beside the table, and laid out a selection of steel tools.  She hung a bag of fluid from a nearby IV stand and tore open an alcohol prep pad.

At Will’s curious look she said, “Rally pack. Great for hangovers.” Andres cleaned the back of Hannibal’s hand then she slid a needle into it and taped it down. She set the fluid on a slow drip.

“Did the bullet go through?” she asked.

“Yeah. Back to front.”

“Ok good. That’s one less thing to deal with. Handgun?”

Will nodded. “Military I think. High velocity.”

Dr. Andres clapped her hands together. “Excellent. There’s less wound sheer with high velocity weapons. So, I’m going to pull off the bandages and see what we’re dealing with here. You put pressure where I tell you. When I tell you. And put a pair of gloves on.”

Andres cut through the Ace bandage holding the fabric dressing tight to Hannibal’s side and peeled them back. Blood overflowed sluggishly as she did and Will stood to put pressure on the wound when Andres directed him to.

“You were right; it’s through and through,” Andres said after a moment. “And it looks fairly clean. The bullet didn’t hit anything major. It’s a good goddamn thing he’s been taking care of himself.” “Muscle protects the body,” she explained as though she was teaching a class.

Andres painted Hannibal’s torso with Betadine and started working. She dissected the wound path and started debriding it with Will serving as her increasingly useless assistant. About ten minutes into this makeshift operation, Andres called for a pair of forceps. Will held them out to her shakily. His gloves were purple with blood. He braced his hip against the dining room table and struggled to stay present. As his vision blurred, the bright overhead light became a halo turning Dr. Andres into a painted icon.

Andres looked over at Will sharply. “You’re about two seconds from sliding onto the goddamn floor,” she said. “And I don’t have time to worry about you right now. Do me a favor. Go in the kitchen. Get another bottle of Pedialyte and take an ice pack from the freezer. Go lie down in the back. Don’t lie flat. Put a pillow behind your shoulder. Prop your foot up too. Put the ice on it.  I’ll be in when I’m done here. Ok?

Will pushed himself back from the table with difficulty, but made no move to leave the room. He looked at Hannibal lying still, pale as milk in the incandescent light.

“He’s going to be ok,” Andres said impatiently. “Go on. Get out of my goddamn surgery.”

Will did as she directed, staggering through the house as though dreaming. It seemed to take hours just to navigate the tilting hallway. The doors swelled and shrank as he walked. He went through the first door that was standing open. It looked like a guest room or a little study. There was a messy desk, a daybed in the corner.

Will sat heavily on the bed and put his leg up on the footboard. He unwrapped a bit of the t-shirt covering his ankle, balanced the ice pack on his foot, and pinned it there with the strip of fabric. Then he piled a stack of throw pillows behind his shoulder and leaned back carefully.

For the next several hours, he floated in and out of consciousness. Sometimes Hannibal spoke nonsense to him. Sometimes Abigail came and held his hand. Beverly told him again about being stabbed in the shoulder with a number two pencil in grade school.

As for Hannibal, he remained deeply unconscious. Dreamless. Far from pain and fear as Andres cleaned and packed and stitched the ruthless path the Dragon’s bullet had taken through his body.

Finally, Andres slid her scissors along the last stitch sealing the small entry wound and snipped it off. She rolled Hannibal gently onto his back, put a folded towel under his head, and drew a blanket over him. She pushed morphine and a broad spectrum antibiotic.

Andres stripped off her gloves and tossed them in a small wastebasket. Then she yawned and stretched, her back crackling. “Ok. Next. “


	5. Chapter 5

Will woke slowly to the sound of Dr. Andres coming down the hall, her footsteps echoing hollowly as though she was approaching from a great distance.  Morning light leaked through the thin gaps in the tightly closed blinds turning the room into a zoetrope. Andres stuttered in strobic pieces as she crossed the room through the slats of sunlight carrying a roll of white cloth and bags of blood and saline.

She laid the cloth on the cluttered surface of the wooden desk along with the fluids, then she pulled a chair over to the side of the daybed. Will blinked slowly and opened his eyes. Andres’ face faded in and out as he tried to focus on her. She was talking, but he couldn’t quite make out what she was saying.

“What?” he asked thickly.

“I said hold still.” She peeled the bandages back from his face, ignoring his gasp of pain. She took the penlight from her jacket pocket and directed it at the wound in Will’s cheek.

“Ok,” she said under her breath. “That’s a nice clean slice. Next.”

Andres used a scalpel to slice through the bandages across Will’s chest. She shone the bright light along the seeping wound just below his shoulder. “And that also looks clean.” She looked up at Will with her eyebrows raised.

“Alcohol,” Will murmured. “Poured it. Poured it in. Face too.”

Andres made a small, impressed sound. “You’re tougher than you look, Mr. Graham.  And you’re goddamn lucky too. Another inch and that blade would have gone right into your lung. I’m going to stitch your cheek closed. Unfortunately for you, I’m in trauma, not plastics. But, I’ll do my best. The chest wound is too deep for stitches right now. I’m going to clean it out, pack it and re-wrap. When it starts healing, we can close it up.”

Will nodded. Then he started coughing again. Drops of blood splattered his stained lips.

Andres pressed a hand over Will’s side, feeling gently along the lines of his ribs. Then she put her stethoscope against his chest and listened to his breathing.

“I can’t say for certain without x-rays, but I’m pretty sure a couple of your ribs are broken,” Andres concluded. “You probably bruised a lung as well. I don’t hear anything of serious concern so we’re probably not dealing with any lacerations or punctures. I can’t do anything for the ribs but tape them.”

Andres stood up and walked to the end of the bed. She unwrapped the fabric bandages around Will's foot and set the melted ice pack aside. Then she squeezed her hands gently around Will’s ankle. Will’s vision greyed out for a moment and he missed what she said.

“What?” he asked when he’d returned.

“I said I don’t think that’s actually broken, Mr. Graham. A bad sprain, stretched tendons. Maybe torn. I’ll wrap that as well. It’ll heal, but it’s going to hurt. You’ll need to stay off it for a while.”

“Hannibal?” Will asked, licking his dry, red-flecked lips.

Andres leaned on the footboard and looked down at the bed. "After a certain point, survival becomes almost entirely about strength of will, Mr. Graham. As you certainly know. Hannibal is one of the strongest, most _willful_ people I've ever met. If he makes it through the next couple of hours, and we can avoid infection, then yes, he’ll be ok. You seem to have gotten him here just in time.” She shook her head and murmured, “That man has the luck of the devil himself.”

Andres returned to her chair and turned on the bright desk light. She unrolled the white cloth on the desktop, spreading out needles, scissors, forceps, and thread.

“What the hell happened to you two anyway?” she asked over her shoulder.

Will blinked slowly, fading again. “Dragon,” he whispered.

Andres rolled her eyes wearily. “Ok, don’t tell me.”

She pulled her chair over next to Will again and gestured impatiently for his arm.  He held it out. Or he thought he did. It felt like he was holding it out. Andres wrapped a length of rubber tubing around his bicep. He saw a syringe in her hand and flinched back instinctively.

Dr. Andres tightened her grip on him. “Morphine,” she said. “You don’t want it, fine. But, I highly recommend you let me give it to you before I start working.”

Will licked his lips again and nodded. The sting of the needle barely registered over the chorus of pain coming from the rest of his body. It was the last thing he was aware of for a very long time.


	6. Chapter 6

When Will woke, the room was filled with late afternoon light. It painted the white rug on the floor a violent orange. His ankle and lower ribs were wrapped in elastic bandages. His face felt stiff and itchy. He reached up with his uninjured arm and touched the flat gauze and medical tape covering the fine stitches in his cheek. He glanced down and saw his chest and shoulder were wrapped in gauze and bandages as well. There was an empty bag of blood hanging from the arm of a standing lamp, the tubing running to a needle in the back of his hand.

Will pulled the tape off and slid the needle out with a wince. He wrapped the floral daybed quilt around his shoulders and limped out of the room and down the hall.

He crossed through the dining room where Hannibal was still stretched out on the table, now covered by a heavy, woven, Go Navy blanket. Will put his hand briefly on Hannibal’s chest. His color was much better and he seemed to be breathing easier. There were four empty bags of blood beside him. Another was hanging from the I.V. stand alongside a half empty bag of saline.

Will found Andres in the kitchen drinking coffee. She glanced up as Will stumbled in. The circles under her eyes were profound and she looked like she’d aged twenty years overnight.

“Yeah, you don’t look so goddamn hot yourself,” she said in response to his expression. “You want some coffee?”

Will nodded.

“On the counter behind you. It’s going to hurt your cheek, but that doesn't really matter. Everything’s going to hurt for a while.”

Will poured himself coffee and sat down with a pained sigh.

“I went to my hospital for supplies before I sewed you up,” she said. “After you finish that coffee, you’re going to drink some chicken broth. The salt and protein will be good for you.Then you’re going back to bed and I’m going to hang more blood and some fluids. You can have some more morphine too. Lucky you. After that I’m taking a goddamn nap. I haven't had a shift like this since I was a resident.”

Will tried to blow on his coffee and winced. Then he took a sip and grimaced at that as well. Andres was right. Everything hurt. “Thank you,” he whispered. “I can’t… I don’t…”

She waived her hand dismissively. “You’re welcome, Graham, but I didn’t do it for you.”

“Why?” Will asked.

“Why did I help him?”

Will nodded.

Andres was silent for a time and Will sat drinking his coffee, waiting for her to speak.

Finally she said, “The Navy sent me to Johns Hopkins for specialized training in trauma surgery. I was really just a kid. Hannibal and I were friends there. Or, I thought we were friends. The second year, I was seeing a man. He was hurting me...”

Andres paused, searching for words, then she spread open the collar of her polo shirt and tipped her head back. Will leaned forward and saw a thin, faded, garrote scar encircling her dark throat.

“One night he went too far. He had a wire, a piece of wire around my throat. I… I thought I was going to die. I grabbed a pair of kitchen shears from the counter and I threw my arm back and I stabbed him in the neck. But, when he was down and I was free I...I kept going. I must have stabbed him a dozen times more. He was barely recognizable when I was done. Then I panicked. I went to Hannibal.” She stopped, haggard face twisting with the effort of controlling her rage and hurt. “My friend. He helped me get rid of the body. And then he helped me get over what happened. Mostly. As much as you can get over something like that. I owe him. I’ve owed him for a long, long time.”

She paused again and swallowed in disgust. “But…I saw the papers when they arrested him a few years back. So, when we’re done here, he and I are done for good. You all can stay until you’re healed up enough to move on and I’ll forget that I saw you as long as I _never_ see him again. The debt is paid.  You understand me?"

Will nodded. “More than you know.”


	7. Chapter 7

Later that evening, Will and Andres managed to carry Hannibal from the table to one of Andres’s guest rooms where he spent the next two days largely unconscious. Andres was unconcerned. She offered Will her stethoscope and asked him to listen for himself. 

"Hear it? Nice and strong. He's just gone inside himself to heal," she said. "This deep sleep will help him."

Will was not entirely convinced. When he wasn’t sleeping himself, he spent most of his time sitting in Hannibal’s room. He spread the stained, crumpled maps and charts from the trawler over Hannibal’s body like a blanket and used them to track a trip from Fort Story to Hatteras and from there to South America. In his opinion, it was the best option in Hannibal’s many-threaded plan.

Hannibal woke slowly as the sun was setting on their second day. The deep gold light illuminated them richly. For a time, he kept his breathing slow and even, watching Will read from under his eyelashes.

Will glanced at Hannibal over the top of a tide table, unaware that he was awake. His eyes lingered on Hannibal’s bandaged side, on the tidal bruises just beginning to fade to green at the edges.

Hannibal smiled faintly at the deep furrow between Will's eyebrows. “What are you thinking, Will?”

Will started in surprise then gave Hannibal a bright, dawning grin that pulled at his stitches.

"I was thinking that it’s strange.”

“What’s strange?”

“That you turned out to be human after all.” 

Hannibal lifted his hand slowly as though pulling it up from the bottom of the ocean and reached for Will’s bandaged cheek.

Will’s smile curved crooked and he caught Hannibal’s hand and set it gently back on the bed. “Not so beautiful now… .”

Hannibal’s eyes fluttered shut again. “Always beautiful, Will,” he whispered distantly.

 

Four days later, Hannibal could sit up on his own. The gunshot wound in his side was a misery and the bruises all over his body ached terribly. Nevertheless, he could tell that he was healing well.  Despite Will’s best efforts, it seemed he would live after all.

Will hobbled into Hannibal’s room that afternoon with a crutch under one arm and a bowl of Campbell’s chicken soup tucked in the curve of the other. “It’s no Silkie chicken in a broth,” Will said with a smirk. “But it’s good enough.”

“I’m sure it is, Will,” Hannibal said, his mouth tight and unamused.

Will sighed, his playful smile slipping, and he set the soup down on the table next to the bed.

When Hannibal was done eating, Will slid an iPad across to him. “Here’s something that might cheer you up.”

Hannibal took it curiously. The splashy headline was several days old. It read, “Gruesome Twosome in Fatal Swan Dive.”

Will nodded in acknowledgment before Hannibal could speak. “Freddie Lounds. It seems the Dragon’s film caught some of the fight. And a nice shot of us falling off the cliff.”

Hannibal looked at the iPad then back at Will.

“Will Graham is dead,” Will said.

“Long live, Will Graham,” Hannibal responded.


	8. Chapter 8

Andres kept the small radio in the kitchen on nearly continuously during their stay, but there was no news of pursuit. They were listed as missing and presumed dead in the Baltimore Sun. Will used the burner as a hotspot and visited the FBI’s public website. Hannibal Lecter had not re-appeared on their Most Wanted List. There was a small, overly congratulatory announcement of Jack’s retirement as head of the BAU and his acceptance of a position as an adjunct professor at Quantico.

In all, Will and Hannibal spent two weeks recuperating at Andres’s family home. It was the off-season and the vacation homes around it were largely empty. Nevertheless, at Andres’s insistence, Will and Hannibal stayed inside during the day. Hannibal spent a lot of his time sleeping, the rest of it bored and irritable. He was healing steadily, but far too slowly for his tastes.

When Andres wasn’t on duty at Fort Story’s hospital, she forced Will through a basic regimen of physical therapy for his injuries and she taught him how to take care of his wounds and Hannibal’s. She also slowly pilfered a very respectable kit of medical supplies from her hospital for Will and Hannibal to take with them. “You seem distressingly prone to injury, Will,” she’d told him when she gave him the box.

About a week after they arrived, Andres talked Will through the process of removing the black nylon sutures from his cheek. She had kept her stitches small and the cut had closed cleanly, but it left behind a raised red ridge and Will did his best to avoid his reflection after that.

A few days later, Andres stabilized the wound in Hannibal’s side with several layers of loose secondary closures. Will served as her assistant for this procedure. As Andres guided him to draw the needle through Hannibal's torn flesh the first time, the phrase "wrap the leader around the tippet" flashed through his mind in a random echo. That evening, Andres gave Will a hand mirror and a shot of lidocaine and asked him to explain the suturing process back to her as he watched her repair the gash in his chest.

When they weren’t engaged in torturous physical therapy and basic, if unorthodox, medical training, Will and Andres discussed sailing; fiercely but companionably debating the merits of multi-hulls v. mono-hulls. It had become comfortable and easy between them and Will knew he would miss her when they left.

To whatever extent possible, Andres avoided being alone with Hannibal during their stay while also making a passable effort to make it appear otherwise. If Hannibal noticed, he didn’t say anything, treating Andres always with grateful courtesy and warmth. His bitter, growing impatience he saved for Will.

A few days before they were scheduled to leave for Hatteras, Will was sitting in Hannibal's room reviewing the charts again, preparing for their trip. It wasn’t really necessary, but Will found the repetition, the over-planning, soothed some of his anxiety.

Hannibal was ostensibly resting, flipping through a textbook on novel treatments for severe burns that he’d found on the bottom shelf of the nightstand. He was restless and unhappy, spoiling for a fight. Whatever horrifying beauty he’d initially seen in their plunge into the sea was being obliterated by the frustrating prospect of a long recovery. 

It had been two weeks. Two weeks of pain and boredom and aching and itching and irritation. The annoying, endless pain was everywhere and Hannibal was having difficulty isolating it completely in his mind. Even the morphine Andres administered couldn't relieve it all.

When Will rustled his charts for what seemed to be the thousandth time in an hour, Hannibal finally shot him an angry look.

 “Is it entirely necessary for you to make so much noise? You must have read over those charts a hundred times this week.”

Will patted Hannibal’s leg absently. “Settle down, Hannibal.”

"Settle down" came out with a patronizing Southern mother tone. The last time Hannibal had heard that pretty little lilt was when he’d had Will in his arms in Italy. Hearing it used against him set his teeth on edge.

“You know, Will," he began. "We need to give serious thought to the immediate future."

"I am giving serious thought to the immediate future," Will said, setting aside the charts and picking up the Swan 44 boat manual that he’d downloaded.

"There are loose ends here, Will. It's not safe for us to leave without addressing them."

Will looked towards the closed door. He could hear Dr. Andres singing slightly off key somewhere in the depths of the house. Then he looked back at Hannibal. "You're saying we need to broom our footprints behind us."

"Just so."

Will turned back to his work. "Absolutely not," he said, licking his finger and turning a page in the boat manual. "Don't even think about it."

"Will," Hannibal said in a tone of warning.

"I'll kill you if you try," Will responded casually without looking up.

"Oh? And how would you do that?"

"I would smother you with a pillow in your sleep." Will said gently. "You're not nearly recovered enough yet to stop me."

Will set the charts and the manual aside and turned to face Hannibal directly, his hands folded, his face more serious. "She will never talk about this, Hannibal. You bought her loyalty long ago. It's a matter of honor for her. She doesn't like it, but there it is. Besides, she's implicated already. She stole supplies for us, helped us, outfitted the boat, and she's had plenty of time to turn us in. Even if the FBI gave her immunity for all that, which they would, of course, she'd be dishonorably discharged. She'd lose everything. She's safe. You said so yourself before we came here. It's _why_ we came here."

Will and Hannibal regarded each other silently for a long while. Then Hannibal looked back at his book. 

 “If you don't mind, Will. I believe your visit has worn me out,” he said finally in a chilly, polite voice. “I need my rest... or I'll never recover from what you've done to me.”

Will looked over at him, incredulous. “You're complaining about what I did to you?” he said. “What _I_ did to _you?”_

“You tried to kill me, Will!” Hannibal snapped.

“And you tried,” Will shouted back. Then he looked over at the bedroom door and dropped his voice to a violent hiss, “You tried to kill _me_! Several times, if you recall! You set the Dragon on my family!”

Hannibal lunged for him at that, teeth bared, then pulled back in agony, hands clasped over the wound in his side.

Will leaned even closer, well within reach. “Go ahead if you think you can.”

Hannibal closed his eyes and turned his head away. “Get. Out.”

Will looked at him for a moment, mouth set in a thin line, then stalked out slamming the door behind him.


	9. Chapter 9

Hannibal was roused suddenly by a sound like someone sobbing. He blinked, confused. The last thing he remembered was Will storming out. He looked down and saw the book on advanced burn care tented on his chest. He must have dozed off. A dream then? No, there was the sound again. A sob of pain or effort. Will saying "I can't. I can't do any more." Then he heard a rumbling voice demanding that Will get up.

Hannibal threw off the bedclothes and stalked silently in his bare feet towards the sound of Will's voice. On his way to the living room, he picked up a large steel candle holder and held it casually at his side. 

As he came towards the living room door, he saw Will lying on the floor with Andres bent over him, her back to the hallway. One hand was on Will’s wounded shoulder. Will's head was thrown back, his mouth twisted in a pained grimace.

"Easy, doc. Jesus."

"One more, Graham," Andres demanded. "Once more and then we can stop for today."

Will gritted his teeth and shook his head. "I can't."

"Do you want function back in that shoulder or not?"

Will acquiesced and bent his arm across his chest as Andres directed. As he curved his body to the side, he saw Hannibal out of the corner of his eye, walking through the living room door. Hannibal's face was placid, but his eyes were hard. He should have looked absolutely ridiculous- gripping that steel pillar, dressed in borrowed sweatpants with little anchors on them and a Navy Dad sweatshirt, but somehow, the clothes only made him look more dangerous. His person suit made distressingly visible.

“I thought I heard you cry out, Will.” Hannibal said. “Are you all right?”

As he spoke, Hannibal set the candlestick unobtrusively down on a side table. Andres didn't see it, but Will did. And Hannibal saw him see it. Saw him understand it. Will lifted an eyebrow at him. Hannibal inclined his head slightly. I see you, they thought.

"I'm fine," Will insisted, his eyes darting back to candle holder again. His face was pale, sweat standing on his brow. "The good doctor is torturing me as usual. Physical therapy for the stab wound. And the ankle."

"And the other arm," Andres said amicably over her shoulder, a slight smile on her lips before she realized who she was talking to.

“So I see,” Hannibal said, matching her friendly tone. He walked across the living room and sat gingerly on the chair next to them. “I must thank you, Emily,” he said, catching her eye. “For your help and your unsurpassed kindness.”

Andres paused and glanced at him. “You’re welcome, Hannibal. It was the least I could do.”

“To the contrary, you have gone beyond all debts and expectations. You've done far more than save our lives. Would you mind showing me what you’re doing here? I assume Will should continue these exercises after we leave.”

Andres nodded curtly in acknowledgment and started explaining her PT process to Hannibal.

Will watched Andres and Hannibal circle each other warily as he groaned through one more set of exercises for Andres's demonstration. Hannibal had never been anything but gentlemanly with Andres since they'd arrived and, despite her hurt and her disgust, Will had seen her softening towards him. It occurred to him that he shouldn't be surprised. He knows how seductive Hannibal can be. He was immeasurably grateful then that she hadn’t turned around a moment earlier to see Hannibal stalking through the living room door with the candlestick in his hand, drawn by Will's distress. His eyes black, all traces of her old friend utterly absent.


	10. Chapter 10

On their last night in Fort Story, Will and Andres provisioned the trawler under the cover of dark, stocking it with the food and water and basic medical supplies Andres had been collecting.

Hannibal was inside napping at Will’s insistence. “I may need your help when we’re underway,” Will had told him. “You should rest while you can.”

Around two that morning, Will and Andres sat at the end of the dock looking up at the stars. Everything was packed. Will planned to push off at dawn.

“Will?” Andres said finally.

Will picked at a thread on his sleeve and glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “Yeah?”

“Why are you helping him? He’s a monster.”

Will drew his knees up and crossed his arms on them. He rested his cheek on his forearm, tilted his head to take in the night sky. Then he looked at Andres again. “He’s our monster,” he answered simply.


	11. Chapter 11

After Hannibal was aboard the trawler and Will was sure he had everything, he jumped down to the dock a final time.

He and Andres stood at the end of the slip in the pale dawn light. She brushed his curls back behind his ears and straightened his faded plaid shirt as though he were a child leaving for school. She cupped his uninjured cheek in her palm and smiled at him faintly. Will closed his eyes for a moment then pulled her into his arms. “Thank you, Emily,” he whispered against her hair. “Thank you.”

“Are you sure, Will?” she asked, not for the first time. “He’s recovering well. You could let him leave. You could still go home.”

He held Andres hard against him for a moment then moved her away gently until he could look at her. “No. I couldn’t,” he smiled.

Andres took Will’s rough, scarred hands in her dark, delicate ones.  “If you ever change your mind,” she started. Then she stopped and shook her head. “I suspect I’ll never see you again, Will. So, I'll tell you what my father always used to tell me whenever I shipped out, may you have fair winds and following seas and may your landfalls always match your departures.” She leaned forward and kissed his cheek. Then she squeezed his hands once and stepped back, letting him go. “Safe travels, Will.”

Will nodded in thanks and climbed aboard his ship. Andres silently untied the bow and stern lines and tossed them up. She lifted a hand to Will as he pulled the last rope in and he returned the gesture.

He thought of the Pedialyte and the rally packs in the refrigerator, the morphine in the linen closet. “Take care of yourself, Emily,” he called softly. “Please.”

"After a certain point, survival is mostly a matter of will. You don't need to worry about me." 

“Goodbye, Emily.”

“Goodbye, Will.”

Andres smiled at him once more then turned sharply on her heel and walked up the dock without looking back. Will watched her leave. When she was gone from view, he joined Hannibal in the pilothouse and took them out to sea.


	12. Chapter 12

Once they’d cleared the winding waterways around Fort Story, Will set them on a course for Inlet Peninsula at Cape Hatteras. They were heading for a small, secluded cottage that Hannibal had inherited from a wealthy patient whose family had supposedly settled the Outer Banks over three hundred years earlier. According to the paperwork on board the trawler, the SY Eurybiê- a Swan 44 bluewater cruiser- had been sitting in dry dock there for nearly four years. Waiting.

The trawler moved at a decent clip, putting them just about twenty-four hours out from the peninsula. Will intended to sail most of the way with the assistance of the basic autopilot, but he showed Hannibal the essentials of navigating and maneuvering the small craft anyway. Just in case.

At midday, Will carried the cooler Andres had given him out onto the sun-washed deck. He was actually fairly curious what was in it, but he didn’t hold out a lot of hope. In the two weeks they’d spent at Andres’s, they’d eaten a lot of canned soup and sandwiches. Will was vaguely surprised that Hannibal had never commented on it especially since he’d been so irritated with everything else the last few days.

Will sat cross-legged on the deck, but found that put too much pressure on his wounded ankle. He stretched his left leg out to the side and then gestured through the wheelhouse window for Hannibal to join him. He opened the lid of the cooler and lifted out the top layer of icepacks. Will chuckled at the yellow post-it note stuck on the back of one of them. _Keep for med kit_ , it read in Dr. Andres’s spiky script.

Under the ice packs was a small bottle of white wine and several Tupperware containers. Will regarded the contents quizzically. He looked up at Hannibal as he crossed the deck and sat opposite him.

“Open them,” Hannibal suggested with an expectant little smile.

The containers held a sort of picnic lunch- a tri-color pasta salad with little bits of cherry tomatoes, marinated fresh mozzarella, and slivers of sausage; a handful of peppery arugula salad; a small glass container of what looked like vinaigrette; slices of glazed chicken; a dish of cold orange segments and raspberries marinating in a pinch of raw sugar.

“I did the best I could with what Emily had on hand,” Hannibal said with a slight grin and a complete lack of modesty.

“You did this?” Will said with surprise, tossing a bit of the salty, spicy sausage into his mouth. He winced as the salt stung the slowly healing abrasions on the inside of his cheek. ”When?”

“There is cutlery in the bottom of the cooler, Will,” Hannibal admonished him. “I put it together the night before we left. When you and Emily were loading the boat.”

“You were supposed to be sleeping,” Will said.

Hannibal shrugged. “Clearly I’d had enough sleep.”

“Clearly.” Will looked at the open containers, suddenly so hungry he was unsure where to start. “So,” he said. “What are you going to eat?”

Hannibal matched Will’s playful expression. “Eat your fill,” he said. “There’s more than enough.”

“More than enough,” Will mused, setting the containers out on the deck along with the clear plastic cutlery, plates, and cups stored beneath them. “I haven’t been really, desperately hungry in probably twenty years and it still gives me a chill to hear that.”

“Yes, you mentioned you were poor as a child. I didn’t know your poverty was so extreme.”

“It varied. Things weren’t too bad when my dad had steady work. When he didn’t, we supplemented with fishing and hunting, if it was available. Sometimes there was nothing.”

"What did you hunt?”

“Small game mostly. Rabbits. Quail.”

“Deer?”

“No. We never had any place big enough or stable enough to dress and store that much meat. I guess we did more trapping than hunting.”

The years fell away from Will’s face as he spoke and Hannibal wondered if he was aware that his Southern accent was creeping back.

Will poured wine for himself and Hannibal. He took a bit of each dish that Hannibal had prepared and picked up his fork.

Hannibal shook his head. “That’s not nearly enough, Will. Fill your plate. Please.”

“This is fine,” Will said with irritation. “I’ll have more if I’m still hungry.”

“You’re hungry enough now,” Hannibal said, dishing more of everything onto Will’s plate.

Will raised an eyebrow. “I’m not a child, Hannibal. I can make up my own lunch.”

“Humor me then,” Hannibal said mildly.

Will shot Hannibal a prickly look, but made no further objection. He bit into a piece of tender chicken then a slip of sweet orange, a sugared raspberry. He ate delicately at first, aware of Hannibal watching him. Then ravenously, uncaring. Licking at the raw sugar crystals that clung sparkling to his lips. Sighing with pleasure.

Hannibal watched Will eat with greedy affection before assembling his own lunch.

“Were you always wealthy?” Will asked, looking down at his plate.

“Not at all,” Hannibal responded, assembling a small composed bite of glazed chicken, raspberry, and bitter salad. “There were several years during the Soviet occupation when I thought I might starve to death. Many did. The house you saw in Lithuania, Lecter Castle, eventually served as headquarters to the Red Army. I spent some time in an orphanage after that. Everything was scarce. Clothing, food, clean water. Everything.”

There are landmines in this conversation, Will thought. He glanced sideways and made himself meet Hannibal’s eyes. “Your sister went to the orphanage with you?”

Hannibal paused and looked away. “No. My sister died before that.”

Will waited for Hannibal to say more, but he was silent. They drained their glasses of wine and Hannibal refilled them.

“When I was sixteen,” Hannibal continued in a lighter tone, “I was finally adopted.”

“By your uncle, right?

“Yes, my uncle Robertus. It was he who sent me to private school in Paris.”

Will looked up with a slight smile, happy to let Hannibal change the subject. “Where you met your music tutor?”

“Yes. Étienne. Very pretty, but not terribly interesting as it turned out.”

“Once he’d taught you everything he knew,” Will teased gently.

“Just so.”

Will shook his head in amusement and dug into the pasta salad, spearing bits of pasta and tomatoes, saving the spicy sausage and rich herbed cheese for last.

They sat in companionable silence and polished off the mediocre white wine and the rest of Hannibal’s picnic lunch. It was the best meal they’d eaten together in years.

Just before sunset, Will left Hannibal to mind the helm while he poked around in the wheelhouse galley and storage compartments to see whether there might be coffee on board. Will found a small selection of canned food, some powdered milk, MREs, sealed containers of water. More than enough supplies to take three people from the house on the bluff to Hatteras without making port. The boat was an uncomfortable monument to a life that might have been.

“Isn’t there any caffeine on this rig?” Will asked. Then, “Wait. Wait, I found something.”

Will’s voice was muffled. Hannibal took his eyes off the glowing horizon to look back over his shoulder. He smirked to see Will on his belly with his good arm stretched painfully to the back of the bottom-most cabinet.

Will sat up and brushed dust out of his hair. He held up a battered steel teapot and a vacuum sealed canister marked “Oolong” in Hannibal’s neat copperplate.

“Mugs?” he asked.

“Yes,” Hannibal said, smirking. “One cabinet over if I remember correctly.”

“You always remember correctly,” Will muttered under his breath. “Should’ve just asked you to begin with.”

Will set water to boil on the tiny stove. At sunset, they sat side by side on the deck with carefully matched china mugs of steaming tea. They were close, nearly shoulder to shoulder, but not touching. A narrow gulf of unfathomable depth lay between them, cold as the sea. Together they watched the sun sink, setting the horizon on fire.

“This tea is delicious,” Will said to fill the silence. ”It’s almost sweet. What’s in it?”

“There’s the oolong, of course. A mix of black and jade, which gives some sweetness. Then there’s hyssop, anise, and dried lavender from my garden in Baltimore.”

“You blended it yourself.”

“Of course.”

Will shook his head. He closed his eyes and cupped his hands around the mug, inhaling the fragrant steam. Hannibal watched him with subtle pride. Pleased, as usual, to see Will appreciating something he’d made specifically for him.

Night fell and the stars rose overhead, cold and distant. The ship began to seem strangely empty to Will without Chiyoh and Beverly, the phantom crew that had gotten him safely to Fort Story. He would have been glad to have them back, to split the night watch, to share the tiny pilothouse floor. It isn’t as if they’d take up much room, he thought wryly.

Will checked the autopilot. Then he and Hannibal unrolled two yoga mats in the cabin and topped them with worn, flannel-lined sleeping bags.

“My family doesn’t do much camping anymore,” Andres had told Will when she'd carried the sleeping bags onto the trawler. “Being in service cured me of any affection for sleeping rough recreationally. And my parents are getting far too old to sleep on the ground, although my father still threatens us with hiking trips from time to time.”

Will set the alarm on the burner for four hours so he could check the navigation. He handed two life vests to Hannibal and told him to use them as a bed rail so that he did not roll onto his injured side in the night. When Hannibal was settled and Will was satisfied with their makeshift crew’s quarters, he flicked the cabin lights off.

He stretched out on his sleeping bag, toed off his boots, and crossed his good arm behind his head. He watched the stars rising through the small tophouse windows. He could feel Hannibal looking at him and he shifted restlessly.

“Do you want to walk through the trip again, Will?” Hannibal asked. “You seem to find it relaxing.”

 Will shrugged. “From Inlet Peninsula we’ll travel south. Around Florida, through the Caribbean, and down to Belize,” he responded softly. “To the house you have there. We can stay in Belize for a bit, at least until hurricane season is over, then we'll track further down along the coast of South America. We should keep moving for a while. ” He paused. “How many of these little houses do you have anyway?”

 Hannibal laughed quietly. “A handful.”

“Identities to go with them?”

“Of course.”

“How solid?”

“It depends. All will withstand significant official scrutiny. A very determined private investigator might crack some of the others given enough time and motivation. The ones you found onboard are extremely well crafted. They are very nearly real people. Birth certificates of course. Social security numbers. Diplomas. There’s even an appropriate social media presence for each of them- LinkedIn, Facebook, Twitter and Instagram.”

Will was silent for a time then he turned his head and looked across the cabin at Hannibal. “Twitter and Instagram… social media for teenagers.”

“Yes.”

“You posted pictures of Abigail? Messages from her?”

“My forgers did. Abigail as she looked in the passport you found. Posed with friends she never had in places she’d never been.” Hannibal’s eyes glittered cruelly in the dim light.

Will swallowed hard and looked back out the window. “And those accounts…”

“Were erased. Yes.”

They didn’t speak after that. Will watched the sky and listened to Hannibal breathing slow and even in the dark. He turned the improbable idea of Abigail’s Instagram account over and over in his mind, surrounded by pictures of her he’d never seen, walking down a dead end path with her in some alternate universe in which no one had died. He wondered if she had helped curate the accounts during the months she’d spent under Hannibal’s thrall. He drifted off to this thought, unconsciously matching his breathing to Hannibal’s, sure that he would never find sleep.


	13. Chapter 13

The burner’s alarm went off four hours later, waking Will from a fitful doze. There was a miserable ache in his shoulders and his ankle. He rose slowly to check the navigation, babying his stiff muscles. He dry swallowed half a tablet of codeine then put the kettle on.  When the tea was ready, he took it out onto the deck and sipped it slowly, staring out into the fading night.

Hannibal was vaguely aware of Will moving around the pilothouse, the sound of the kettle, the smell of lavender and anise, but the first leg of the trip had been exhausting and he allowed himself to sleep on until the cabin started to fill with sharp pink light.

Sleeping on the cabin floor aggravated the deep, persistent bruises that covered Hannibal’s body and he struggled to stand. In silence, Will took him by the elbow and steadied him. Then he handed Hannibal a mug of hot tea and a protein bar and gestured for him take them out on the deck. After Hannibal had gone, Will took the helm and disengaged the autopilot.

They approached Inlet Peninsula just after dawn. Will navigated the trawler along the shore and through a narrow channel leading to a rickety, sun-faded boathouse on the edge of the inlet.  He slid the boat up the long grey dock into the deep shadow of the boathouse and cut the engine. They’d gotten used to its constant rumble and the sudden silence was profound. In its wake they could hear the hollow slap of the water against the weathered dock, the creak of crickets in the long grass.

Hannibal put his hands on the gunwale and breathed deeply, inhaling the sweet sleepy smell of late season honeysuckle, the sharp dry scent of reeds at the water’s edge, the murky green of the algae on the pilings. Hannibal rested his forehead on the warm wood, surprised at the depth of relief he felt.

Will packed a small bag with some of their medical supplies, the canister of oolong tea, two cans of beef stew, and some of the sealed containers of water. Then he dropped the anchor and threw the mooring lines over the side. He slung the bag over his shoulder and climbed down the ladder, favoring his left foot. Hannibal followed, trying not to pull the stitches in his side as he climbed.

Will secured the trawler to the dock then put his hands in the small of his back and stretched, listening to his spine crackle. Hannibal walked past him slowly. His muscles were sore and he was still so tired. Neither of them had slept particularly well.

“The house is just this way, Will,” he said, heading up the winding dirt path that led from the dock to the cottage.

Will limped along behind him, his left ankle immediately protesting the uneven ground. He kept his head down, ignoring the pain, focused on putting one foot in front of the other. Sweat started to soak through his shirt as he walked. His dark curls stuck to his flushed forehead. The backpack slung over his shoulder seemed to pick up weight with every step. When he looked up again, he saw that Hannibal was out of sight. Will sighed and plodded on. How far away is this place, he wondered.

The path curved sharply around a stand of scraggly pines clustered together just past the dune line. As he came around this corner, Will saw a flash of white cloth in his periphery. At some point, Hannibal had realized that Will wasn’t behind him anymore and had come back to see what was taking him so long.

“Here,” Hannibal said walking alongside Will. “Stop for a moment. Give me that bag.”

Will stopped and handed the backpack over without argument. Hannibal threw it over one shoulder then slipped an arm around Will’s waist and braced him upright, feeling a deep tearing pull in his side as he did.  Will put his good arm around Hannibal’s neck gratefully and they hobbled the rest of the way up the path together, panting with effort.

The cottage at the end of the dirt track was small but lovely.  Its pointed façade and expansive triangular windows made it look something like a sailboat, a small echo of the lavish house on the bluff. Hannibal left Will leaning against the front door, walked into the cottage garden, and pulled a key out from underneath a stone bench.

Inside, the cottage was airless and musty with a strong aspect of abandonment. Hannibal set the backpack on the dusty table then turned the water on in the kitchen sink and let it run until it was cold. He rinsed two glasses and handed one of them to Will.

“Drink slowly,” he cautioned.

Will leaned against the table and took the glass with a shaky hand. He pressed the cold curved side against his forehead before drinking. When he finally looked up, he noticed a small bloom of blood leaking through Hannibal’s shirt.

“Damn it,” he said. “You must have popped some stitches walking me up here.” He set the empty glass down on the table. “Come on, let’s find a place you can lie down and I’ll take a look at it.”

The little house had two, small, well-appointed bedrooms, one on either side of a long, white-washed hallway. Underneath the dust covers, the beds in each room were already made up. Waiting for them. As the cottage itself had been waiting. As the Eurybiê was still waiting. For four years.

At Will’s direction, Hannibal lifted off the white t-shirt gingerly and leaned back on the bed in the larger of the two rooms. Will gently pulled the tape and blood-stained gauze away from the wound in Hannibal’s side, hissing through his teeth when he saw the raw angry tears at the edges of the exit wound.

“Hang on,” Will said. He limped out into the kitchen and returned with the backpack. He laid out a packet containing a sterile suture kit, alcohol wipes, nitrile gloves, a vial of lidocaine and a single use syringe. He cleaned the blood from Hannibal’s side with one of the alcohol pads muttering “sorry, sorry” when Hannibal winced.

“I need to replace two of those stitches,” Will decided.

Hannibal looked down at himself. “Yes. I concur.”

“Stay still, ok?”

“Go ahead when you’re ready, Will. I’ll be fine.” Hannibal said. Then he closed his eyes and took his mind away. In the dark, he watched the curtain rise on the Joffrey Ballet’s premiere of Cloven Kingdom that he’d seen in New York City in 1985. He smiled, remembering the beautiful man he’d met at intermission and killed later that night at his lavish Upper East Side home. He’d left him in a frame of yellow tulips and willow branches pulled from the vases scattered throughout the apartment. The crime was still unsolved. It has been an excellent visit.

Hannibal’s breathing slowed as if he was sleeping. Will watched him for a moment, amazed again at the control Hannibal could exert over himself. Then he turned to work, infiltrating the edges of the wound with lidocaine as Dr. Andres had taught him. He confidently clipped and removed the ends of the broken nylon sutures, but paused before picking up a pre-threaded needle.

Dr. Andres put her hand on his shoulder. “Close the hemostat around the middle of the needle, Will. Hold the skin together where you want to put the new stitches in. Put the needle close to the edge. Point the tip up.”

Will bent forward over Hannibal’s side and followed Andres’s instructions. As he became more certain, her voice gradually faded into his own internal monologue.

Hannibal’s eyes fluttered open when Will set the scissors clattering on the nightstand. As the pleasant memory of his weekend in New York receded into the past, deep throbbing pain flooded back into his body. He looked down at his side and smiled tightly. “Well done, Will. Thank you.”

Will nodded. He taped a square of fresh gauze over the wound, smoothing the edges down.

Hannibal thrilled at the feeling of Will’s gentle hands on him, but there was no invitation in it. His touch was kind, but clinical. Aching pain in the wound and in the bruises covering his body soon banished any fleeting desire he felt and he was suddenly furious again at his continued weakness and slow recovery.

Will felt Hannibal’s mood shift drastically and looked up at him, concerned. “Hannibal? Are you ok?”

Hannibal started to brush the question aside, but his face had gone white and it was obvious to Will that he was in considerable discomfort.

“It hurts,” he admitted. “But I’ve felt worse. Don't concern yourself, Will.”

Will hobbled into the kitchen and came back with another glass of water. He rummaged in the backpack and handed Hannibal two tablets of codeine.

“Go on,” he said in response to Hannibal’s skeptical look. “Take them. You need the sleep anyway.”

Hannibal swallowed them and set the glass on the night stand. Will stood and rolled one of the blankets into a long bolster and laid it along Hannibal’s side. Then he pulled the top blanket over Hannibal and tucked the end of it around the bolster as Andres had done to keep him from rolling over in his sleep. Finally, he packed up the remaining medical supplies and started to leave.

Hannibal caught the edge of his shirt in his fingers and Will turned back to look at him.

“Stay with me a moment. Please.”

Will put the backpack on the floor and sat carefully on the edge of the bed. Hannibal’s eyes were heavy. The mix of fatigue and painkillers was pulling him inexorably towards sleep.

“Tell me something, Will,” Hannibal said.

Will looked at Hannibal over his shoulder, his expression soft but guarded, waiting for one of the eviscerating little questions that usually followed that lead in. But Hannibal was silent, eyes closed.

“Tell you what?” Will prompted helplessly, immediately cursing himself for it.

“Something true…” Hannibal said softly.

“Something true,” Will repeated. ( _i guess we’re at the pick your own pain portion of this conversation.)_ Then he smiled suddenly and clasped his hands. “Did you know I once saw a mermaid? True story.”

“I did not.” Hannibal whispered with a little smile. “How extraordinary.”

Will bent his leg and shifted around on the bed to look at Hannibal directly. The midday sun filtering through the blinds glinted off the silver hair in Hannibal’s beard. He had been growing it out for weeks and Will thought it made him look like a little bit like an Old Testament prophet from some Hollywood epic. He reached out almost unconsciously and skimmed the backs of his fingers through the air just over Hannibal’s cheek, curving his hand back at the last moment and putting it in his lap. Hannibal was vaguely aware of Will reaching for him, but he would not remember it when he woke.

Will sighed and closed his eyes, but his tricky little smile remained. “When I was in fourth grade, I got suspended for fighting,” he began. “There was a boy, Tommy Sipes I think was his name. He was always ragging on me about not having a mom. One day at recess, he was going on about it. I must have gotten sick of it so I punched him in the arm and shoved him down onto the asphalt. He got a little talking to for being mean, but I got a three day vacation…even though he was hardly hurt at all.”

Hannibal smiled at Will’s indignant tone. “That hardly seems fair,” he murmured.

“I guess my dad thought it was unfair too because he took me out deep sea fishing one of the days I was suspended.”

Will was silent for a time and Hannibal relaxed, rocked on the comfortable tide of Will’s breathing.

“I loved those times with him,” Will continued finally. “Hunting and fishing. I think they were the only times he really saw me, instead of…instead of her. Dad always said I didn’t catch any fish that trip because I fell asleep on the deck. He told me he had to carry me off the boat when we got back even though I was really too big to be carried. But I don’t remember that at all. I only remember the mermaid.”

Will waded across the sunlit stream behind his eyelids and onto the deck of a deep sea fishing boat. “I was standing at the gunwale, the side of the boat you know, looking out at the waves. My dad was baiting our hooks with live bunker.” “That’s for sharks,” Will explained in an almost childish voice.

“Then I saw a woman in the waves,” he continued. “She had long dark curly hair and blue eyes, like mine. She was waving to us. Then she leapt up and dove into the sea. Her long green tail smacked the surface of the water, sending up rainbows. She was so beautiful. When she came up again, I could hear her singing. It sounded sort of like a lullaby and sort of like a Christmas carol. Sometimes I think I remember the song, but when I try to sing it, it just…disappears.”

Hannibal struggled to stay awake, to hold onto the helpless longing ache at the heart of Will’s story, but sleep was coming for him. As he sank towards a black unconsciousness, Will’s tall tale began to twist and combine with a Bible story he’d heard as a young boy about a war between the trees of the field and the waves of the sea. Neither was victorious. Fire came and consumed the forest and the sand rose up and held back the sea. The last thing Hannibal saw in his mind before sleep claimed him entirely was a vast underwater pine forest, burning firebright in the depths of the ocean, and a scrawny young boy with dark unruly hair cradled in the arms of a mythic mother.


	14. Chapter 14

Will cracked the windows in the little cottage to let the stale air out then unlaced his boots and kicked them off. He took two tablets of codeine from the bottle in the backpack and stretched out in the big soft recliner in the living room, keeping his chest and ankle elevated. He meant to sleep for a few hours and then limp down to the boat house to check out the Eurybiê, but he was exhausted and he slept well into the afternoon.

When Hannibal woke there was low slanted light pouring into his room. He was entirely awake, but momentarily confused, unsure of where he was. The last thing he remembered was watching a lonely boy wandering through an improbable undersea forest. A recollection that could not possibly be real.

He yawned and sat up, pulling the blanket off. The ache in his side and the blood-stained t-shirt folded on the nightstand cleared his confusion immediately. He was at the cottage in Inlet Peninsula. With Will. They were alive and they were safe. At least for the moment.

The faded button-down that Will had been wearing when they set sail for Cape Hatteras was hanging over the back of a chair next to the bed. Hannibal pressed it to his nose then threw it on. He was enveloped in the smell of salt spray and baking sun, warm spice and sweat, the sharp citrus of fear and pain, the faint tang of blood. And all the way at the bottom, beneath everything else, something comforting and delicious and unnamable that was Will’s scent alone. The shirt fit snugly and when Hannibal buttoned it closed, he felt as though Will was holding him lightly.

Hannibal padded towards the kitchen silently, led by the smell of something savory cooking. Will was standing at the stove in his white undershirt and the slightly oversized jeans that had once belonged to Andres’s father, humming along with the radio and shifting from foot to foot as he stirred something sizzling in a large pan.

The counters were an agreeable sort of mess. There were several empty cans of beef stew, a tin of mushrooms, a box of egg noodles, onion skins, and what looked like every spice bottle in the entire cottage. An open bottle of red wine sat next to a half full glass.

“Hello, Will. What are you making?”

Will turned and gave Hannibal a lovely unguarded smile that left him feeling stunned and unbalanced. “My specialty. Poor man’s beef stroganoff. Canned beef stew, canned mushrooms, spices, and a little red wine, served over boxed noodles.”

Hannibal smiled broadly. “You seem much better, Will.”

Will turned back to stir something on the stove. “I am much better I think. I slept pretty well. It feels….” He paused, thinking of how to explain. “It feels good here. Safe somehow. This is a good place.” He looked at Hannibal over his shoulder.  “How do you feel?”

Hannibal nodded. “Better. Thank you.”

Hannibal leaned on the counter next to the stove, picking through Will’s ingredients with interest. “I didn’t know you could cook, Will.

Will smiled again, a sunny nostalgic expression. “Doctoring canned stuff I know how to do. I did a lot of it when I was a kid. I don’t know if I’d call it cooking."

“Certainly it is. Would you like me to sous chef for you?” 

“Nope. It’s under control.”

Will glanced over at Hannibal and chuckled. The button-down he had on was straining at the shoulders and across the chest. “I thought that might be a little tight on you, but I didn’t want you to have to put that bloody t-shirt back on. There are some clothes in the closets, but they smell pretty musty. Some of them might be ok if we hang them outside for a while.”

Hannibal slid a hand over his chest and belly where Will’s shirt clung to him. “This was very thoughtful, Will.”

Will moved back to the stove, his cheeks gone slightly pink. “Why don’t you sit down and have some wine? This should be ready soon.”

When he was finished cooking, Will brought the provisional stroganoff to the table with a hesitant look of pride. He dished some onto Hannibal’s plate and then his own before sitting down with his glass of wine. He watched Hannibal eat for a moment then looked down at his plate, slightly apprehensive.

“I know it’s not exactly what you’re used to.”

Hannibal smiled fondly. “Fishing for compliments?”

Will looked up, mirroring Hannibal’s expression. “Maybe.”

“It’s very satisfying, Will. Especially given what you had to work with.” Hannibal took another bite, considering. “There are fresh vegetables in this. Where did you get them?”

“From your garden,” Will grinned. “I walked the perimeter after I woke up. You have onions- the little wild ones as well as cultivated. There’s garlic and carrots too. The prior owner must have planted them at some point and now they’re growing wild. I’m sure there’s good fishing off the beach and there are probably mussels in that boat channel too. We’ll eat well here.”

Hannibal found that he was unexpectedly touched by Will’s need to provide for them and his obvious satisfaction in being able to do so. Will’s optimistic recitation of the bounty available at the cottage triggered Hannibal’s memory of foraging for morels in the countryside outside of Paris. At one point, this had been a pleasant recollection as well as a place to store wild mushroom identification information. But talking to Will about his childhood hunger the day before seemed to have rekeyed this memory and now it led almost immediately to a harder one- starving in the deep Lithuanian winter, searching beneath the snow with frostbitten fingers for anything edible: deep frozen grasses, wild potatoes, dense and bitter acorns, burrowing insects.

Will watched Hannibal smile and then watched his smile fall, following the skeleton memory of deprivation as it rose subtly in Hannibal’s face and carved his cheeks hollow. He was stricken with an almost crushing desire to offer some comfort to the boy Hannibal had once been, but he had no idea what to say or if it would be welcome in any case. Some wounds were immune to sympathy. Instead, he opened another bottle of wine and re-filled their glasses.

After dinner, Will got up and went to the small refrigerator. He came back with a porcelain bowl of cold blackberries. “Dessert, he said. “They’re late season. Sweet enough not to need any sugar. I wish I had a little cream to give you with them, but there isn’t any.”

“You’re full of surprises today, Will,” Hannibal said. “They look delicious just as they are.”

Their fingers met from time to time as they plucked the deep purple berries from the bowl and ate. The dark juice staining their mouths and fingertips. 

After dessert, they cleaned the kitchen together in companionable silence. Happily full and slightly tipsy. Hannibal insisted on washing the dishes since Will had cooked. As Will restocked the spices, dried the plates and pans and put them away, Hannibal noticed he was listing to one side, significantly favoring his left leg.

“Come into the living room, Will,” Hannibal said, drying his hands with a dishtowel and folding it neatly on the counter. “I want to see about that ankle.”

Hannibal gestured for Will to sit on the sofa and knelt at his bare feet. He propped Will’s left foot on his thigh, rolled the leg of Will’s jeans up, and unwrapped the elastic bandage. Will steeled himself against the sudden crackling heat he felt seeing Hannibal on his knees, feeling Hannibal’s broad, capable hands on his bare skin again.

Hannibal cupped Will’s foot in his hand and pressed his fingertips gently on either side of the anklebone. Then he slid his long fingers through the thick hair on Will’s calf and dug into the muscle. Will inhaled sharply and flinched.

Hannibal frowned up at him. “Am I hurting you, Will?”

“No,” Will murmured.

“Then let me have your foot,” Hannibal said with slight impatience. “Let the weight of your leg relax into my hands,” he clarified, “so I can assess what is only muscle tension and what is damage.”

Will closed his eyes and did his best to feel Hannibal’s touch as impersonal, as purely medical. Hannibal continued to work his fingers into the muscle of Will’s calf. Then he stroked with gentle pressure from foot to calf and back. He inclined his head slightly to the side, eyes half closed.

“Emily diagnosed tendon tears?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“I’d be surprised if there weren’t some stress fractures along with the tendon injury,” Hannibal said, pressing his fingers lightly into the top of Will’s foot. “We took…” Hannibal paused, his mouth twisting in a sick mix of love and fury. “We took quite a fall.”

“Yes we did.” Will whispered.

“You may eventually need surgery for it,” Hannibal continued brusquely. “But we can possibly avoid that if we take just a little more care now.  It needs a splint, which I can do in the morning. Heat in the morning also. Ice at night for swelling. A course of anti-inflammatories. And you’ll pick up your physical therapy again starting tomorrow,” Hannibal declared finally.

Will raised his eyebrows sharply. “Oh will I?”

“Yes. You will.”

Hannibal slid his hands over Will’s foot slowly and wrapped his fingers around his ankle again. He could feel Will’s pulse rising rapidly in his distal artery. His breathing had gone fast and shallow.

Hannibal looked up at Will steadily. “Are you all right?”

Will nodded and swallowed hard. He licked his lips unconsciously. “Did you… did you know your mouth is purple?”

Hannibal smiled crookedly. “From all those blackberries you fed me."

“And the wine,” Will said with a faint smile.

“And the wine.” Hannibal could feel Will’s eyes on him, searching his face, tracing over the purple stains on his lips. He kept his hands still around Will’s ankle and waited to see what he would do.

“I’m so tired,” Will sighed finally, rubbing his hands across his face.

“Would you like to go to bed?” Hannibal asked softly. “There are two bedrooms,” he forced himself to add.

Will bit his lip and shook his head. “I slept really well on the recliner today. I think I’ll stay out here and keep my foot up.”

Hannibal nodded. “ As you like. If there’s any ice in the freezer, please put some on your ankle before you doze off.”

Hannibal rose gracefully from his knees and squeezed the arm of the sofa next to Will’s wrist, careful not to touch him again. ”Sleep well, Will. Thank you again for dinner.”

“You’re welcome, Hannibal. Goodnight.” Will said, looking down at his hands.


	15. Chapter 15

Two days later, Will limped down to the boathouse with the assistance of a splint Hannibal had fashioned and a large, somewhat L-shaped branch he’d found outside the cottage. Will had wrapped the top bar of the branch in torn cloth making a temporary, improvised cane. It was better than nothing, he supposed, but he still wished that he’d remembered to pack the aluminum crutch he’d used at Andres’s house. With a sigh of annoyance, he recalled seeing it last when he and Andres were loading boxes out onto the trawler- leaning against the wall behind the porch door.

Will set his improvised cane aside when he reached the end of the path and pulled the side door of the worn boathouse open. The Eurybiê looked old, but completely serviceable. It had sleek lines and the teak decking typical of the brand. Will smiled to himself, thankful the ship was not as ostentatious as he’d imagined it might be given who it belonged to. It would be easier to glide in and out of small ports without drawing undue attention to themselves if they weren’t sailing the nautical equivalent of a Wagnerian opera.

Inside, however, was a different story. The slightly shabby, safely non-descript exterior of the Eurybiê was belied by the exquisitely appointed interior. There was a great expanse of warm beautiful wood paneling. The built in couches in the sitting room were upholstered in fine fabric that was only slightly damaged by long disuse and the humid climate. The shelves and storage compartments, with their tarnished brass fittings, were stocked with books, playing cards, pads of slightly wilted drawing paper, pencils, music.

In the tall thin cabinet by the stairs, there was an incredible assortment of fishing gear- a mix of new and used deep sea poles and reels and lures. Broad nets and pointed gaffs. A sealed box of fly tying supplies. Standing nearby was a rolled canvas hammock that could be set over the sturdy hooks Will had seen on the deck.

At some point, the galley kitchen had also been customized far beyond the Swan's usual utilitarian set up, whether by Hannibal or the prior owners. There was what looked like a bespoke, half-sized, Viking range. Polished steel counters. Locking walnut cabinets. Copper bottom pots and pans. There were sealed containers of water, canned goods, dried beans and peas and lentils. Another full complement of unopened spices. Back in the mechanicals closet, there was a generator and fuel and a small solar set-up.

There were three cabins belowdecks- a large stateroom and two smaller berths. The closets in the stunningly decorated master cabin held an assortment of sturdy clothes suitable for sailing, although somewhat stale from disuse. We could live for months on this rig, Will thought with wonder.

He ran his fingers along the line of clothes and pulled one of the linen shirts off its hanger. He held it up in the dusty light streaming through the port window then draped it around his chest cautiously. It was his size. So was the next, and the next, and the next. All of them simple, but well made. He shoved the remaining shirts frantically aside with shaking hands and ripped a pair of cotton pants off the bar hanger. He’d lost weight since the fall, but these pants had clearly been intended for him. On the floor of the closet, there were shoes as well. On the shelf above, a stack of sweaters ranging from thin black cashmere, which had not fared well on the boat despite the closet's cedar lining, to thick and cream-colored fisherman’s wool. Hanging at the end of the closet bar, a Trysail foul weather jacket.

Will slammed the door to the closet shut and sat on the bench at the end of the bed with his head in his hands, trying desperately not to think about the time Hannibal must have spent, all those years ago, with him specifically in mind. After he’d swallowed Will’s lure and Will had yanked the hook to set it tight. He tried not to allow himself to see Hannibal considering the shape of his body and what clothing he might need when they finally ran away. What he might enjoy. What might flatter him. What might serve as an acceptable compromise between his utilitarian style and Hannibal’s luxe aesthetic.

Will got up abruptly and pulled the stateroom door closed securely behind him as though he could confine the memories of mutual betrayal within it. Then he walked across the sitting room with some apprehension to explore the other two berths.

Sitting on the floor of the small, comfortably closed in cabin that he impulsively decided to claim for himself, was a very old steamer trunk made of leather and wood and oiled canvas marked with an interlocking pattern of checks and lines. Will opened the lid warily. Inside was an antique hand mirror and a silver hairbrush. Durable pants and shirts suitable for life at sea mixed with delicate scarves and sundresses. Airy sandals and solid deck shoes. A straw hat with a bow. Crisp candy-stripe pajamas. A used copy of _The Violent Bear it Away_. Whisper light, unbearably small, kidskin gloves in a crimson so dark it was nearly black. At the very bottom, a bone-handled hunting knife. The clothes were all folded neatly, but arranged haphazardly, and Will knew Hannibal had not packed this trunk.

He sat on the edge of the narrow bed with one of the dresses Abigail had picked out pressed over his eyes, a scream like a sparrow caught quaking in his throat. Back bent and shoulders curved like folded wings. An archangel of misery and loss. Over and over he heard " _I just did what he told me/I wanted to surprise you_." Through the gauzy fabric, he saw Abigail as she might have been. Sleeping in the hammock with a book on her chest and one sunbrowned leg draped over the side. He saw himself running up the sails with her help. Holding her against the chill as the sun set and the air cooled. Teaching her deep water fishing and watching her cook their catch with Hannibal in the beautiful galley kitchen. Curling around her in the big stateroom bed with Hannibal stretched out beside and reading aloud to them, stars visible through the small skylight. Safe together on the ocean and the world safe from them in turn. 

Eventually he wiped his eyes with the edge of the dress and piled it and almost everything else back into the trunk. He briefly considered keeping a light blue scarf that looked the most like something she might have worn, but in the end he put that back as well. None of this ever really belonged to her, Abigail-that-never-was, and keeping it would do nothing but hurt him.

With some difficulty, he maneuvered the heavy trunk off the ship and onto the beach, wondering as he did how many times he would have to let her go before it was done. Then he filled the trunk with stones and dragged it up onto the trawler. The trunk and the trawler belonged together, he thought. They were part of the life he would leave behind. 


	16. Chapter 16

In all, Will and Hannibal spent about a week recovering in the cottage. Will checked the little radio obsessively, but there was still no news of any pursuit. It seemed they had gotten away. Not entirely in one piece. But away.

Toward the end of their stay, they began stripping everything useful from the trawler and transferring it to the Eurybiê. While they were emptying the storage compartments, Hannibal noted the antique steamer trunk shoved in a corner of the pilothouse, but said nothing. He lingered there for a moment after Will had disembarked with a box of canned goods. He put his hand on the lid and closed his eyes, letting the warmth of the wood soak into his palm, as though to capture it. Then he laid his sun-warmed hand on his chest and pressed it down with the other, pressed it tight until the heat had dissipated into his skin.

By the time they were done stripping the trawler, Hannibal was pale and silent, his shoulders tensed against the throbbing pain in his side. Will insisted that Hannibal return to the cottage to rest while he started making the Eurybiê ready to sail.

Hannibal returned to the dock in the chill of the early evening feeling much recovered. When he turned the corner in the path, he could see Will’s bright work light pouring through the slats of the worn boathouse. The rickety structure seemed to float in the encroaching dark, spiked with light like a Moroccan star. The constant drumming of the surf was punctured by peepers calling from the long grass. Below that, behind it, Hannibal could hear the rustle of small predators slinking through the scrub brush. As he drew closer to the boathouse, he could hear Will humming under his breath as he sometimes did when he was alone and absorbed in his work.

Hannibal leaned silently against the doorframe and watched Will inspecting the hull for rust and damage. Always he felt a kind of invasive warmth, watching Will unobserved. Will had felt him coming, but let him look for a time unchallenged. When he finally glanced back over his shoulder in acknowledgment, Hannibal held out a thermos and a small, ripe apple. Will had a strange, fleeting thought of a Depression-era photo he’d seen once- a woman bringing a lunch pail to her husband in a California orange grove.

“Did you know there’s an apple tree behind the cottage?” Hannibal asked, a slight smile crinkling the corners of his eyes.

Will smiled back and shook his head. He put the apple in his pocket and opened the thermos, inhaling the fragrant steam of the tea. “Must have missed that.”

“There isn’t much fruit left. I picked what little was there and put it in a bowl in the kitchen.”

“Enough for pie?” Will asked, eyebrow raised, half hopeful.

“Unlikely. And there’s no flour here in any case.”

“That’s a shame,” Will said lightly. “I haven’t had good apple pie in years.”

“I could bake them with some sugar and cinnamon,” Hannibal offered quickly. He was overcome with the bizarre feeling that he and Will were playing out a domestic scene from another life and he found himself delighted by the strangeness of that thought.

Will took a long sip of the hot tea and closed his eyes, savoring the pleasant rush of heat from his throat to his belly. “That sounds wonderful. And this is perfect, by the way. It’s just what I needed.”

Hannibal basked in Will’s unguarded pleasure. He’d found Will unusually expressive in his enjoyment of the physical world since the fall. He made a note to surprise him with an apple pie or something a little more sophisticated, a tarte tatin maybe, when they reached Belize.

Will set the thermos down and took the little apple from his pocket. He cocked his hip and absently polished it on his shirt before biting down. It was perhaps the most unconsciously rustic thing Hannibal had ever seen him do. He wondered idly if it was a remnant of Will’s father that he was seeing in Will’s rough stance and rural movements.

Hannibal watched as Will’s teeth punctured the apple’s thin red skin and sank into its crisp, white flesh. A thin line of tart juice spilled from the corner of Will’s mouth and Will caught it with the tip of his tongue. Hannibal touched his own tongue to his lips in helpless sympathy then looked quickly away.

When he was done with the apple, Will took another long swallow of the slightly sweet tea then turned back to the ship. He took up his stained rag and rust remover, limped alongside the hull, bent and buffed a bit of rust off the keel.

“You really should take more care not to overwork yourself, Will,” Hannibal chided.

“She’s a beautiful old girl,” Will responded, shrugging off Hannibal’s concern. “Lots of space, but small enough for a two man crew. Gorgeous decking. Nice engine. Windvane _and_ a small autopilot. That’s a nice touch. Swans are fast too. Nimble. It should be a comfortable ride south.”

Hannibal smiled with unconcealed pride. “I had hoped you would like her.”

Will sighed and ran a hand affectionately over the ship, spreading his fingers along the curve of the hull. “You bought her for me.”

“Of course.”

“Did you pick the name?” Will asked, tracing the letters with the tip of one finger.

“Yes.”

“It looks Greek. What does it mean?”

“You really do have a gift for languages, Will. It means goddess of the mastery of the seas. She is ancient, predating even the gods of the wind and stars.” Hannibal paused. “But that’s not her real name. Her real name is Medeinė.”

“Medeinė,” Will repeated, slightly crushing the unfamiliar word between his teeth. ”Russian?”

“Lithuanian,” Hannibal replied, tilting his head. “It means goddess of the hunt.”

Will’s open smile slipped, his expression tightening into something unreadable. ( _yes, let's avoid inscribing ourselves with identifying marks_ ). He and Hannibal looked at each other for a moment then Will turned back to his work. He expected Hannibal would leave then, satisfied at having reminded him who they were and why they were here, but he didn’t. Instead, he walked across the boathouse and set a hand on the ship’s ladder.

“I’d like to see to the interior while I’m here, Will. Do you mind?”

Will stopped scrubbing at the hull, surprised and somewhat irritated. He started to say that Hannibal had no need to ask permission to board his own boat, for god's sake, but he stopped himself. Hannibal’s tone was superficially casual, hiding strain. He… _needed_ something from him here. What was it? Will looked over at him, into him. For a rare stretch, it seemed Hannibal could not bear to look back.

The ship _wasn’t_ Hannibal’s, Will thought. Not anymore. It was a gift. ( _all gifts are two-handed. they require an alchemy of intention to exist._ ) Will groaned under his breath and clicked his tongue against his teeth. The ship was Hannibal’s gift to him. A gift of time. One ideal future, obsessively pieced together at great effort and expense over a destructively hopeful stretch of months many years ago. The teacup unshattered. Hannibal was waiting for him to accept it. ( _no. not quite._ ) Hannibal was _still_ waiting for him to accept it. ( _yes. that’s closer._ ) To take ownership of it. Will realized he could break Hannibal with a careless word here. It was overwhelming to have been given such power over this monstrous man.

Will set his shoulders and turned to face Hannibal directly. He caught Hannibal’s gaze and held it. A slow smile drew one side of his mouth up in a knowing, penetrating expression. I bought this. I own it, Will thought. Then he gestured to the ladder as the Eurybiê’s captain. “Please come aboard any time you like, Hannibal.”

Hannibal smiled with a staticky mix of satisfaction and relief and started to climb. “Thank you, Will,” he called. Lightly. Happily. As though nothing had happened.

Will watched him as he went, silent and contemplative, then returned to his work.

Hannibal felt a pleasant anticipation rise in his chest as he crossed the worn teak deck and descended into the belly of the Eurybiê. He ran his fingers over the steel counters of the kitchen, the rich upholstery in the sitting room. Everywhere the warm, slightly spicy smell of old, sun-baked wood. Below that, faint strains of mildew and rust and engine oil.

Hannibal noticed that Will had spread some of the nautical charts out on the sitting room table and set others by the radio with the ship’s pedigree papers and its Cayman Islands registration. Across the room, he could see the door of the little cabin standing slightly open.

Hannibal knew Will had already relocated Abigail’s steamer trunk to the trawler, that he intended to leave it behind. That was, perhaps, not an entirely unexpected thing. More unexpected were the tide tables that he could see piled on the narrow bed. The ship’s manual lying alongside them. The quilt turned down. A long-sleeved grey t-shirt that Will had taken to wearing draped over the edge. Hannibal felt a maddening wave of desperate disappointment that clouded his insight, distorting the shape of things.

With a twisting feeling in his gut, Hannibal opened the door to the stateroom. There was a panicked pile of shirts and a pair of crumpled deck pants on the floor. Clothes and empty hangers had been shoved haphazardly to the side in one of the cedar closets. Hannibal’s lip curled in hurt and fury. Apparently, Will did not intend for them to travel from here _together_ , as such, and his continued insistence on sleeping in the living room was not in temporary deference to their wounds. Forgiveness, it seemed, had not paid Will a visit after all.

Hannibal started to sort through the clothes on the floor and in the closets, removing what seemed too damaged to save. Pacifying busywork. A superficial salve for this unanticipated pain. He gave one of the linen shirts a sharp, bitter shake and set it aside. He inhaled deeply and called the hovering memories of Abigail further forward for company.

She had picked out so many of these clothes as well as almost everything in her steamer trunk (although the straw hat had been his idea). He'd given her his iPad and asked her to bookmark anything she thought they might need for a long trip. “You and Will have nothing suitable to wear,” he’d told her. “We need to stock up. Pick whatever you like, mažylis,” he’d said, kissing the top of her head.

Hannibal thought about ordering the fishing gear, the fuel cells, the navigation charts. Sitting shoulder to shoulder with Abigail in her windowless, hidden room and flipping through sailing catalogs, travel websites, fashion magazines. Abigail resting her head against him in nervy affection, vetoing his more ostentatious suggestions. “Where would I wear a ballgown?” and “No. Will does not need a tux” and "are those  _silk_ slippers?"

He recalled Abigail coming to him one snowy afternoon, solemn and vulpine, with an auction listing for an antique hunting knife. “Can we buy this for Will?” she’d asked. “Of course, little one,” he’d responded, curling an arm around her possessively, brushing his fingers through her long silky hair and behind her missing ear. “How thoughtful.”

It had been Abigail who’d found the custom glove maker in Baltimore where he’d purchased two pairs of gloves at her request- a bruisey crimson for her, tarry black for Will. Both were gone now. Abigail’s in the orphaned Goyard trunk. Will’s in evidence at the FBI along with the rest of the contents of Hannibal's Baltimore home. Or perhaps they had been destroyed by now. What kin did Hannibal have to claim the things the FBI did not need to build its case against him?

Disconsolately, Hannibal let Abigail slip to the back of his mind. He tossed aside several mildewed shirts and pairs of pants. The shoes all seemed fine, but some of the sweaters were ruined. He found himself exceedingly disappointed that the thin black cashmere sweater wasn’t salvageable. He thought Will would have enjoyed the feel of the delicate yarn against his skin and he’d been looking forward to seeing that. Hannibal allowed himself to think briefly of Will running his hands over his own body, rubbing the exceptionally soft fabric against his chest, and making one of his small, unique sounds of surprise and pleasure. He would just have to replace it somewhere along the way.

When he’d separated out what could not be saved, Hannibal took the pile of Will’s remaining clothes, as well as the spare pair of glasses he'd stored in the bedside table, and relocated them to the small cabin. With a slight air of resignation, Hannibal organized the diminished selection to his satisfaction in Will's closet and set the glasses on top of his tide tables. It was only natural, he decided finally. Will had accustomed himself to solitude, to small spaces. In times of stress, he would inevitably revert to what was most comfortable for him. He simply needed more time. Mollified by this thought, Hannibal pulled the door shut behind him and left the ship.


	17. Chapter 17

Later that night, Hannibal passed the tiny bathroom and saw Will standing in front of the mirror peering at the stitches in his chest.

“I thought I tore some of them when we were moving supplies to the sailboat,” he told Hannibal’s reflection. “But I think they’re fine actually.”

Hannibal walked into the small room and stood beside Will at the sink. “May I?"

Will nodded and turned to face him, heart flashing against his ribs as Hannibal stepped into his space. The thin slash mark on his chest was red around the edges, but all the stitches were intact. Hannibal looked it over critically.

“That closed nicely. I believe those stitches can come out,” he concluded, stepping back. “I can remove them, if you like. It may be difficult for you to angle the scissors correctly by yourself here.”

Will started to say that he didn’t need any help, but then relented. “Yeah. Ok,” he agreed.

Hannibal scrubbed his hands with soap and blistering hot water then took the wickedly sharp surgical scissors out of the medicine cabinet where Will had stashed them. He gestured for Will to step under the bright, overhead light so that he could snip the knots and pull the sutures free.

When it was done and the last stitch was removed, Hannibal pressed his fingers around the edges of the wound, looking for swelling in the muscle. He glanced at Will's face, but saw only a little discomfort there. Satisfied, he ran an alcohol wipe over Will’s chest and moved away. “This seems to have healed very well, Will. How does it feel?”

“Not bad. A little sore. And it really itches now.”

Will raised a hand to scratch at the tender scar and Hannibal gave him a forbidding look. “Don’t,” he warned. “It will pass. “ He gestured to the scar on Will’s cheek, “And what about this?”

“The inside of my mouth still burns sometimes. The outside is…kind of numb?” Will traced his fingers back and forth over the thin, raised scar. “On, off. On, off. You know?“

Hannibal nodded. “There may be some nerve damage. That should improve with time.”

Heat poured off of Will’s bare skin and Hannibal found himself simply unable to step out of the room now that this task was done. He lingered in the doorway, hands shoved with unconvincing casualness in his pockets. The tense silence pooled and spread.

Will cleared his throat finally. “You… you should let me look at the ones in your back. That entrance wound must be healed by now.”

Hannibal nodded and turned away. He closed his eyes, concentrating on the rush of cooler air on his flushed skin, the feeling of the backs of Will’s fingers skating over his body as he raised the hem of the shirt. Will made a small unhappy sound when he exposed the gunshot wound low on Hannibal’s side. He heard Andres grumbling at him in the back of his mind that those stitches should have come out already.

“What was that, Will?” Hannibal asked, looking curiously over his shoulder.

“Oh. I didn’t…didn’t think I was talking out loud,” Will replied uncertainly. “I said I think they should have come out already. Let me just… Actually, if you could go into your room and lie flat, I think that would be the easiest way to get them out. Ok?”

“Of course. Thank you for your help, Will.”

Will scrubbed his hands, prompted by Hannibal’s fastidiousness, then walked down the hall with the sharp surgical shears glinting in his hand. Hannibal stretched out face down on his bed, resting his head on his crossed arms. Will pulled the chair closer and swiveled the bedside lamp so it was shining hotly on Hannibal’s back. He gently folded the edge of Hannibal’s shirt up again until he could see the neat array of black stitches that had held the gunshot wound closed.

Will paused, seeing the Dragon’s bullet shatter the window and pierce Hannibal’s side in an uncontrollable loop. Red wine and blood and glass spraying out in a desperate fan. A terrible, trembling feeling of rage, and fear, and righteousness.

“Is everything all right, Will?” Hannibal asked with slight concern. “If you don’t feel able…”

“No,” Will said quickly. “It’s fine. I’m here. ( _i’m here_ ).”

Will forced his hands steady and began cutting the knots on the sutures and pulling them through Hannibal’s skin one by one. In places, the stitches had healed into the skin and they left small drops of blood when Will yanked them out.

“Sorry,” Will whispered each time, shaking his head. “Sorry.”

“Don’t concern yourself, Will.” Hannibal murmured. He was already gone, immersed in a pleasant memory of Venice. He felt the phantom press of Will’s palm against his still unmarked back and smiled slightly. “ _Be still. Let me touch you_ ,” he heard Will whisper. The feeling of the piercing points of Will’s teeth in his flesh was laid over the distant sensation of the stitches being pulled free.

As Will cleaned the drops of blood welling up from the small, raw-edged lacerations in Hannibal’s back, he also thought of Venice. They passed each other like ghosts in this shared space. _“How do you like them?”_ Will heard Hannibal ask. _“Your proxy scars.”_

Will smoothed his hand lightly over the jagged starburst mark of the bullet wound and Hannibal shivered under the gentle, inquisitive touch, past and present blending together.  Will drew his shaking hand back and stood up abruptly.

“You’re…” He swallowed and started again. “You’re all done here. It looks good.” He walked towards the door. “When you’re ready,” he said, with his back to Hannibal, “why don’t you come down to the beach? I caught some bluefish this morning. I was thinking of roasting them for dinner. I could use your help if you feel up to it.”

***

They ate mostly from cans during the scant week they spent at the Hatteras cottage, supplementing with the wild produce on the peninsula and in the small garden. Will harvested mussels and caught fish as well. He usually gave the mussels to Hannibal to prepare since he was so picky about them, but he always gutted and cooked his fish himself.

That night, at Will’s request, Hannibal built a driftwood fire on their tiny sand beach. Will sprinkled two of his freshly cleaned bluefish with salt, pepper, and spices, wrapped them in foil with some of the wild garlic, and set them to cook in the coals.

They sat on either side of the fire with their fish on a pair of dented tin camp plates that Will had found when they were stripping the trawler. (They must have come with the boat, Will had thought at the time, as he could not imagine Hannibal buying them.) The chilly saltwind tugged at their hair. Hannibal watched Will eating meditatively, stripping small bits of fish off the delicate bones with his fingers, his mind inaccessible. He seemed to sway slightly in response to the crash of the surf.

“This fish is excellent, Will.” Hannibal complimented, trying to pull him back from the obscure run of his thoughts.

Will lifted his chin in a small gesture of acknowledgement, but remained distant. “I’m glad you like it.”

“Another childhood recipe?” Hannibal prompted.

“Not exactly. I probably learned this, or something like it, from the season I spent in Scouts when I was eleven.”

Hannibal tried to imagine this, but came up unusually empty. He simply had no context for Will as a Boy Scout. He wondered again if Will was aware of how freely he revealed his past now and how much of himself he gave away when he did.

“My father and I would usually pan fry our catch,” Will continued, tossing a piece of coal-roasted bluefish casually into his mouth. “Or, _I_ would pan fry it more like." His smile returned momentarily at this memory. “A little cornmeal mixed with cayenne, salt and pepper. Some butter spooned over.” The proud and easy transfer of a well-loved recipe.

This version of Will, Hannibal could see clearly. A shy and skinny teenager in a meager kitchen. Shaggy hair tucked behind his ears. Spatula held in one hand. Fraught family dinners. Always just moved in or just about to move on. A life unstable.

“Cooking for your father in a trailer kitchen,” Hannibal mused deliberately. ”Making something simple into something delicious. How much like your mother you must have looked then.”

Will froze and looked up at Hannibal from under his long eyelashes. Hurt, and furious, and entirely present. ( _around and around we go_ ) “My father often said so,” he responded in a low wounded voice. Then he lifted his chin defiantly and offered Hannibal the rest of his own accord. “But I don’t even know if he was right. There were no pictures of her anywhere. I had no idea what she really looked like. I only had my reflection and his recollection. She left us when I was a baby, but he treated her as though she were dead.”

“It’s a wonder then that he could bring himself to eat anything you made, Will. Every meal a momento mori.”

Will clenched his teeth and met Hannibal’s sharp and hungry look. “You’re out of line.”

Hannibal spread his hands, palms up. Merciless and unapologetic. “You could see it. I think you couldn’t help but see it.”

Will shook his head and took a deep breath. “I don’t know what my father was thinking most of the time,” he lied. “Did he choke down the dinners I made, mourning my temporary mother, bitterly regretting that I looked _so much like her_? I really have no idea.”

Will stood up and brushed sand off the seat of his jeans. He tossed the fishbones from his plate into the scrub grass for the raccoons and limped back towards the cottage. The low red light of the dwindling flames flashed off the tin plate like a beacon until he disappeared around a bend in the uneven dirt path.


	18. Chapter 18

The night before they set sail for Belize, Will and Hannibal sat on the cottage’s deck, bundled in their blankets, hands cupped around steaming mugs of astringent instant coffee.

“We have to scuttle the trawler,” Will said.

Hannibal looked over at him mildly.

“It’s covered in our prints, our DNA,” Will continued. “It won’t go unnoticed here forever. And…”

“And to the right pair of eyes, it would be a signpost.”

“Yeah. Might as well be called the S.S. How We Did It.” Will smiled.  The scar pulled across his cheek giving him a devilish look.

Hannibal smiled back at him with fondness and something a little like relief. He felt their old camaraderie rising warmly between them as they conspired, pushing back against the frigid ocean tides that still swirled in his blood, threatening to drown him in his sleep.  

“How will you sink it?”

“I’ll take it out into the deep ocean once the moon is down. Anchor the dinghy. I’ll open all the valves and hatches. Tie the cabin doors open. That will let the water flow in and take it down. I’ll row back in the inflatable. Then I’ll dismember that and store the pieces on the Eurybiê. We’ll pitch them later.”

Late that night, Hannibal watched from the beach with almost unbearable trepidation as Will took the trawler out alone through the rough chop. He stood on the sandy shore looking at the dim, hooded boat lights as they receded, wondering if Will was well enough to sink the trawler safely and to return unharmed in the little inflatable. Wondering, with rare and unwelcome anxiety, if Will might simply keep going, stretching the bond between them like worn elastic until it finally snapped.

When he was far enough from shore that the boat’s lights were no longer visible, Will brought the trawler to a stop in the deep water and killed the engine. He sat in the pilothouse for a moment with his eyes closed, feeling the boat rock placidly with the surge of the waves.

In the profound endless dark behind his eyes, he took his left hand in his right and pulled his wedding ring off. He dropped the simple gold band into his palm then cupped his hands around it like a firefly, beautiful and transient, a seasonal life. He raised his hands and peeked through the gap. By rights it should glow in the dark, he thought. And there should be a sign or a voice or something. But there was no messenger here. No one to say go or stay. No or stop. Only the cavernous boom of the waves. It is his decision alone, as it always has been. The sea and the ship and the stars were simply waiting. Waiting for him to confirm, for the last time, the axis on which his future will turn.

Will brought his trembling hands to his mouth and pressed them to his lips, his breath coming fast and shallow. Tears welled in his eyes and he blinked them back. Molly and Walter deserve better, he thought. They deserve _normal_. They would never have been safe with ( _from_ ) him. Even if he’d caught the Dragon, there would only have been another and another and another. And Hannibal would always have tried for him. And he knew that he would not have said no forever. It was over with them when he stepped back through Jack’s magic door and into Hannibal’s cage, when he felt that sharp snapping spark of love and loathing again.

Will set the gold band down carefully and with great respect on the lid of the steamer trunk. His fingers lingered for a moment on its glimmering edge. Then he extinguished the deck lights and flicked on his flashlight. He swept the beam briefly over the ring and the stone-weighted steamer trunk before he moved on. In nearly complete darkness now, he braced the cabin doors open. He moved quickly and carefully, opening the trawler to the sea, then hopped into the dinghy and pushed off.

He paddled a little way to shore then turned back to watch. For a moment, the trawler sat seaworthy and serene on top of the glassy black waves. It looked faded. Used up and husked hollow. A bridge between lives that he no longer needed. Once the flooding started, it took surprisingly little time for the trawler to disappear. Will turned his back on it as it sank and paddled towards the beach. Now there was only one way off the peninsula.


	19. Chapter 19

The day they set sail for Belize, Will woke early from a fitful, arid sleep. He was keyed-up and anxious before his feet hit the floor. Over and over he thought, Inlet Peninsula-N 35.19° W 75.74°; Ambergris Caye- N 18.01°, W 87.93°. In the kitchen, he measured the last of the oolong into two mugs and set water to boil on the stove in a small, copper bottom pan.

While he was waiting for it, he looked over the papers laid out on the kitchen table. He picked up his forged passport and paced back and forth in front of the stove with it. “My name is Elliot Mantle,” he said aloud, testing it in his mouth, drawing the vowels out. “Eli for short. Elliot Mantle, psychologist.”

“Psychologist?” he remembered asking Hannibal while they were making the Cape Henry to Cape Hatteras run. “Really? You didn’t want to go with something a little more reasonable, like boat mechanic?”

“You have the aptitude for it,” Hannibal had explained. “Even if you don’t have the bedside manner. It explains the money, the free time. And people are invariably nervous around mental health professionals- they spend most of the time trying to act sane and worrying whether or not they are succeeding. It prevents them from looking too closely even when you spend an entire evening with them. I found it exceptionally helpful in Baltimore, as you surely know.”

“But…” Will had started to protest.

“I did suggest ‘English professor on sabbatical from foreign university’,” Hannibal had interrupted, opening his hands in a magnanimous little gesture, “but my forgers pointed out that invariably someone would ask what university. Too easy to disprove, they told me. If it helps, I asked them to make one of your alternate identities an ex-patriate sailing instructor.”

Will had made a small sound of concession in response. “And what about yours?”

“Demyan Kalashnik, plastic surgeon? What’s wrong with that?”           

“A little ostentatious, don’t you think?”

Hannibal had smiled sharply. “Not at all. The brighter the plumage, the more it distracts from what is underneath. My alternate to your alternate is Boris Volkov, Belarus art dealer and import/export.”

Will had raised an eyebrow at that. “Sounds like a cartoon gangster.”

“This is fun, isn’t it?” Hannibal had asked brightly.

Will recalled Googling “Demyan” and “Kalashnik” on the burner after that discussion. Rough translation? The tame baker. American cultural translation? The demonic baker. Identities within identities like nesting dolls. It was a game. Like everything else.

When the water was boiling, Will put his passport down and fixed his tea. He took the mug and an empty cardboard box out into the dewy, overgrown garden. He sat on the stone bench as the sun rose, gulping his steaming tea and running restlessly through the first steps of the trip- filling the dry dock, lowering the ship into the canal, taking it out into the ocean. Below that, departure and landfall coordinates still ran in restive counterpoint.

He set the mug on the bench and knelt on the ground to pick the few remaining vegetables, packing his harvest in the cardboard box. The wet black soil soaked the knees of his jeans. When he was done, he returned to the cottage and set the box and the empty mug on the counter.

He’d already yanked half the spices out of the cabinets and packed them in with the vegetables when he realized that he didn’t know what Hannibal would need for the day’s cooking or which spices, if any, he’d planned to take with them. Shifting his weight restlessly, Will put all the bottles back and shut the cabinet doors. Then he opened them to serve as a reminder. Then he shut them again. He ran his hands through his hair until it was standing up in corkscrews. A succession of southern ports looped through his mind one after the other. Hilton Head-Sea Island-St. Augustine-Riviera Beach-Key West ( _unless we swing through the Bahamas_ )-Cancun-Ambergris Caye.

When Hannibal finally got up, he insisted Will have something to eat. Will sat at the table with one leg crossed over the other, bouncing his foot impatiently, while Hannibal cooked and tried to make conversation with him that did not involve their impending departure. He made them a simple breakfast of oatmeal and apple slices baked with cinnamon. He gave Will a self-satisfied, expectant little smile when he served them and was almost unbearably annoyed when Will ate hurriedly and silently without appearing to notice them.

Will was nervy all day, stalking from room to room and back and forth to the ship with the last of their supplies, dragging his increasingly sore ankle. He’d found the spare pair of glasses Hannibal had left for him in the Eurybiê and he kept taking them off and putting them on. Pushing them up on his head to hold his hair back and then forgetting they were there. Hannibal was having significant trouble being near him- it felt as though he was throwing off static.

Just before they left, Will insisted they wipe the cottage down as well as they could. Just in case. Hannibal acquiesced wearily without raising any of the obvious issues. They used a pair of dishcloths to scrub the places their hands had touched. Doorknobs and light switches. Drawer pulls. Faucets and handles. "A fingerprint massage, we called it on the force," Will said with a strange sharky smile.

Finally, in the afternoon, when Will had gone over the cottage more times than was possibly reasonable, he sat next to Hannibal on the porch and wrapped his arms around himself. Hannibal had given up on him an hour earlier and was reading peacefully, waiting for him to sort himself out.

“Would you like to discuss it, Will?” Hannibal asked finally, marking his place in his book with a fallen maple leaf he picked up off the worn porch.

Will looked at him out of the corner of his eye, mouth twitching. “I feel…” Then he stopped and shook his head. 

“Tell me, what do you feel?” Hannibal prompted.

Will sat back against the bench. ( _N 18.01°, W 87.93°-Key West-unless we swing through the Bahamas_ ) “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

“When we first got here, you said it felt good. That this was a good place. Safe somehow, I believe you said.”

“It’s… comfortable here,” Will agreed.

Hannibal crossed his legs and clasped his hands over his knee. “We have a pleasant little house and plenty of food. Wild fruit trees and berry bushes. Even a small garden. The endless shifting sweep of the sea that you love. Its boundless bounty. And this is your country. It’s even close to where you grew up isn’t it?”

Will nodded cautiously.

“But, when we leave, it will be as if we are sailing for the New World. The entirety of our lives cradled in the belly of a little wooden boat. We will have unknowns upon unknowns.” Hannibal shrugged minutely as if to say, isn’t it obvious. “Of course you’re having difficulty leaving, Will. Of course.” Hannibal paused then and let the silence spill out, waiting for Will to fill it with what was really bothering him.

“What if…” Will started, twisting his hands together. Then he took his glasses off and rubbed his hand over his face. “What if I can’t?” he said reluctantly.

“Can’t what?”

“Can’t… can’t keep us ( _you_ ) safe,” he whispered. “Can’t lead us out.”

Hannibal wanted to put his hand on Will’s arm. To reassure him. To ground him in the present. Instead he curved his hand comfortingly around the back of the wooden bench beside Will’s shoulder. It was truly fascinating, Hannibal thought, the amount of responsibility Will had taken on himself. ( _you worry too much,_ _cunning boy. have you really forgotten what i am?_ )

“I trust you, Will,” Hannibal said kindly. “And you are not alone in this. We will keep each other safe.” Hannibal brushed the backs of his fingers affectionately along the sleeve of Will’s shirt. “We have set our hearts against the world.”

Will looked over at Hannibal, his eyes wide and wet. He took a sharp breath and stabilized himself. Then he nodded and stood up. Together he and Hannibal walked down to the Eurybiê. They did not look back.

Once they were at the boathouse, Will opened the valves to allow the chambers of the dry dock to fill with water. As the supports sank, the deck sank with them until the ship was floating free in the channel. Together they loosened the bow and stern lines. Will climbed aboard first then turned and gestured for Hannibal to join him. Invitation and permission. When they were situated, Will took them out into the deep water once again.

He put the bow into the wind and ran up the sails. With an eye on the windex, he trimmed them, explaining what he was doing to Hannibal as he brought them in to close haul. Once they were under sail, Will took the helm. From time to time, he glanced over his shoulder to watch the shore pull further and further away. As it receded and the wind flowed around him, a wonderful lifting, soaring sensation started in his chest. He closed his eyes and smiled slightly, feeling the salt spray on his cheeks.

“Now what?” Hannibal asked him once the Eurybiê was well underway.

Will grinned at him. “Now we head south ‘til the butter melts and turn right.”

 


	20. Chapter 20

As they traveled south, Will taught Hannibal enough sailing to serve as an effective first mate. The combination of autopilot and windvane, which Will had so admired when he first saw the Eurybiê, lightened the workload during the day and frequently allowed them to forgo the night watch altogether. Occasionally, Will insisted on it anyway- sometimes because of tricky weather, sometimes to maintain their skills. He sat up with Hannibal on his first watch to make sure he understood how and when to correct course himself and when to come wake him. It was not necessary after that. Hannibal had no particular affection for sailing, or manual labor, and he did not seem to share Will’s special fascination with the sea. Nonetheless, he was a quick study and Will came to trust him with the ship.

The wind coming off the water as they skimmed along at broad reach was cool, but the work of sailing was hard enough to keep them warm even stripped to shorts and bare feet. The bright southern sun browned their skin and bleached their hair as they toiled on deck. Hannibal's turned a silvery blonde all over while Will's hair and beard went copper in strands. They worked well in tandem. Trimming sails and maintaining the ship. Reading and talking. Bound as they had been before the breach- in love as profound and chaste as brothers. Their brief time in Italy fading like someone else’s dream.

Hannibal had a long habit of watching Will when he was not looking. On the ship, Will was frequently too busy adjusting the sheets or watching the weather or fishing to notice Hannibal’s intense regard and he had little inclination to call him out for it when he did notice. When Will was not directing him to do this or that task, Hannibal had time to drink him in. Watching the competent flex of his body as he hauled sails and cast deep water lures, absorbing the sweep of his thoughts as he read the weather and plotted their course. He continued to find Will’s control, his matter of fact commitment to their escape and their sudden life together, utterly dizzying.

One afternoon when the weather was particularly good, Will set the windvane so that they could read in the sun. He settled in the aft cockpit across from Hannibal and opened his book. After a time, he looked up at Hannibal over his glasses.

"How do we know each other, Dr. Kalashnik?" he asked.

Hannibal lowered his own book and gave Will a narrow trenchant smile.

"We're old school friends, Eli."

"We went to the same school?"

"You did a semester abroad in Zurich while you were at university. I was a graduate student and your T.A. We stayed in touch after that."

"Why Zurich?"

"You picked a French-speaking country because you wanted to study overseas, but not be completely overwhelmed by the language barrier." Hannibal paused. "I assume because you lived in New Orleans... _Do_ you speak French, Eli?"

"I speak some Creole. Do you, Dr. Kalashnik?"

"I speak French, no Creole."

"Did we like each other right away?"

"What do you think?"

Will closed his eyes and leaned against the back of the cockpit, opening his mind to this imaginary past. He thought of the picture Inspector Pazzi had shown him, Hannibal as a young man. As Il Mostro, the Monster of Florence.

"No. You were arrogant," Will concluded.

"But charming," Hannibal suggested.

Will gave him a dry look. "Maybe."

"And you were stand-offish and irritating," Hannibal contributed.

"Undoubtedly. So how did we become friends?"

"I admired one of your papers. You were incomparably susceptible to that kind of flattery."

"Why did you bother to begin with?"

"Because your psychological observations were incredibly incisive. I was impressed. And you were beautiful, of course." Hannibal smiled warmly. "Always beautiful, Eli."

Will snorted and waved the compliment away as though shooing a fly. "These new identities seem suspiciously close to our real identities."

"They're easier to remember that way. But there are no documents that depend on these details. It doesn't matter what our story is, as long as we both tell the same one."

Will closed his eyes again and imagined a completely different life for himself. Studying abroad. Carousing with friends in the narrow clockwork streets of an ancient city. Boyish and easy camaraderie. A course that would allow him to use his unique gift without, perhaps, making such dismantling sacrifices of his own mind.

"Then I liked you the moment I met you and we became drinking buddies immediately," Will amended. "Even though you were an arrogant prick."

Hannibal inclined his head and raised an eyebrow. "It seems I am an arrogant prick in both versions of this story."

"Closer to real is easier to remember," Will said, opening his book again.

"Yes. How insightful."


	21. Chapter 21

Hannibal watched with feigned indifference as Will expertly slid the filleting knife into a freshly caught fish. His eyes caught on the glint of the blade, on the turn and flex of the muscles in Will’s forearm, the freckles dusting his sunburned shoulders. Will resolutely pretended not to notice Hannibal pretending not to notice him. He threw the guts into his bait bucket and pushed his hair off his forehead with the back of his hand leaving a faint smear of blood there.

“Do you miss it, Will?” Hannibal asked suddenly.

“What’s that?”

“Running in Jack Crawford’s pack?”

“Are you asking me if I miss being Jack’s bitch?” Will chuckled, deflecting Hannibal’s precipitous inquiry.

Hannibal waited until the silence was uncomfortable. “I’m asking if you miss being his bloodhound.”

Will stopped cleaning the snapper and looked over at Hannibal. Hannibal returned his gaze placidly.

“Sometimes,” Will answered.

“It was destroying you.”

Will looked at him bitterly, thinking  _around and around we go_. “Your… intervention certainly contributed. But, yes, I think it was.”

“And still…?”

Will shrugged. “And still.”

“Why?”

“Probably for the same reason professional dancers grind their bodies into dust for a few years of the highest levels of performance.”

“You felt as though you were born to do it.”

Will nodded slightly. “Maybe. Something like that. I was saving lives. That was good. It meant something. _I_ meant something.”

“And there was that unique sparkling feeling of epiphany,” Hannibal suggested.

Will stopped for a moment. “Yes. There was that.” He paused again and offered what seemed to be the worst part, the part Hannibal was no doubt waiting for. “There was power in it. A sort of pleasure. Connecting with Jack’s killers. Seeing through their eyes. Solving them.”

“Surpassing them?”

“Yes.”

“Eliminating them.”

Will ignored that jab.

“It must be deeply satisfying, to do what you were born to do,” Hannibal continued.

Will looked at him pointedly. “You would know.”

Hannibal turned back to his book and Will let him read for a moment before speaking again.

“Tell me about the orphanage.”

Hannibal paused and held his place with his finger. “I’d prefer not to.”

Will glanced over his bare shoulder before he started to strip the scales away from his fish. “How old were you? Let’s start there.”

( _as you say, will_ ) “I was eleven when I went to the orphanage.”

Will had an immediate vision of a small starving boy shivering in the snow and began to regret prolonging this game. As always, his empathy would give him both an advantage and a distinct disadvantage as Hannibal’s memories of suffering rebounded on him in a way that Hannibal would never experience. ( _contrapasso_ )

“Your parents were dead. Your little sister was dead,” he pressed.

Hannibal bristled at the casual dissection. “Careful, Will.”

“Your kindly aunt and uncle were nowhere to be found,” Will continued undaunted.

Kindly, Hannibal thought. ( _kindly_ ) He smiled tightly. “That’s right.”

“If you were adopted at sixteen, that means you spent nearly five years there.”

“Very nearly, yes.”

A slow, double-edged smile pulled Hannibal’s mouth up slightly at the corners. Will had driven them down this road in retaliation for his comments about Jack and now Hannibal would use his memories to excoriate them both. The sharper the suffering, the more raw the recollection, the more it would pain him to express it. But it would hurt Will _so much more_ to hear it. It wasn’t really fair play, but then, what was?

Hannibal began the recollection with an invocation. “Her name was Mischa.” He paused to allow her name to disappear into the wind. “Our parents died in the aftermath of the Soviet occupation. I took care of her as well as I could. We hid in the castle, creeping out to find food and water. Wood for the fire. It was a lawless time. You never knew who would be on the road. Alliances crumbling and re-forming. People were hungry, homeless. Desperate.

Then a man came. A starving man, staggering up the driveway. He begged for food, but we had almost nothing. Not enough to share. Not even enough to keep us alive for much longer I thought. I told him to move on. He didn’t go far, as it turned out. Later that day, I let Mischa go alone to forage on the other side of the castle from me.” Hannibal shook his head slightly. “I should not have done that. The man was there. Hiding.”

Hannibal's accent grew thicker, more guttural. "She was _mažai ką_ ," he said, cupping his hands in front of him." Such a little thing. Fragile as a bird. He grabbed her up and carried her a ways off and then..."

"Stop," Will said, shaking his head, capitulating. His eyes were squeezed shut against tears. "Enough."

But it would never be enough. And this game had no safe harbor. "I heard her scream," Hannibal continued relentlessly. His cadence was surpassing casual, but his mouth twitched and pulled as he spoke, telegraphing deep distress. "And then I heard the screaming stop. I was too late. I found her lying in the shredded remains of her clothes, the red mark of his hands encircling her neck. I would have killed him, Will" Hannibal insisted, as though Will might contradict him. "I had my father's rifle and a handful of ammunition left. I needed it for hunting, but I would have spent it all on him. Fortunately for him, he was already gone.”

Will shuddered, leaning hard against the gutting table. Hannibal’s memories surrounded him, blocking out the warmth of the sun and the glitter of the waves. The light behind his eyes was dim, deep winter light. And he was cold. So cold he expected to see his hands white and frostbitten when he looked at them. He could feel the wind-driven ice on his face.

Did you honor every part of her, he wanted to ask, but he knew the answer already. He could see it. He couldn't help but see it. A thin and wolfish boy hunkered down by a roaring fire in a castle on the edge of a vast white wood. Eating with his hands. His mouth and fingers stained red. She was blood of his blood now. Flesh of his flesh. The vision had a cruel fairytale quality that did not detract from its truth.

"There are many cultures in which the consumption of the dead is the purest form of grief," Will said, forcing himself to keep playing. He straightened his back, giving himself breathing room as Hannibal’s memories pressed in on him. "Eventually someone must have found you and taken you to the orphanage.”

"Yes."

"Someone from the State. Did they ask about Mischa?"

"They may have, but I don't remember. Many of these memories are fragmented. I didn't speak again for years."

"You were...inside."

"Yes. I would say _stuck_ inside."

"Children, especially traumatized children, can be very cruel to those who are different. Were they cruel to you at the orphanage?" 

Hannibal said nothing. He was unmoored by Will’s almost prophetic insight. It was as if Will had stepped back into the past with him.

Will answered his own question. "Yes. Your silence drew them. They took it as weakness." He turned and caught Hannibal’s eye, looking into him until Hannibal was forced to look away. "I can see them. Grey smocked older boys, circling in a pack." Will said. "Pushing, shoving, taunting. Looking around nervously for staff who rarely stopped them." 

Hannibal was silent, neither confirming nor denying. Will pushed on, every question barbed. "You left the orphanage before you were adopted?"

"Yes,” Hannibal said finally.

"You just…ran away?"

“Not just.”

“Something set you off. What was it?"

Hannibal responded in a voice like a wall of thorns, driving Will's ruthless, penetrating compassion back. "Before dinner one night, what they called dinner, one of the oldest boys pushed me into a corner by the kitchen. He turned me against the wall and leaned his unwashed body against mine. Stinking of sweat and grease. I could feel him." Hannibal's throat clicked as he swallowed in disgust. "He shoved his dirty hand between my legs and promised that he would see me later. That I would _kad garsus Niekada neįsivaizdavau_ ," Hannibal spat. "Make sounds I never imagined. At dinner, I stabbed him through the hand with a fork, pinning it to the table."

Will's mouth curled in poison satisfaction and he felt Hannibal's savage, childish triumph echo in him. "You taught him not to touch what wasn't his," Will said, darkly pleased.

"The headmaster locked me in the closet in his office for that."

"But you made him let you out. You pushed him."

"Yes."

"You… seduced him?"

"In a way I suppose I did. I begged," Hannibal said, folding his hands close to his chest and adopting the tremor of a terrified child. The submissive posturing clashed horribly with his vicious grin. "For the first time in years, I spoke. I sobbed. ‘ _B_ _ud'te dobry_ ,’ I called. ‘Please, I am _boyus' temnoty._ So afraid of the dark. I am sorry. I'll do anything if you let me out.’ He opened the door and picked me up, skinny thing that I was. He held me on his lap and I curled into him just like a little fox. ‘ _Papa_ ,’ I called him, which he found very endearing. He wrapped his arms around me. Then I drove his letter opener up under his ribs and into his heart." 

Will closed his eyes briefly letting the scourge of Hannibal’s memories bite into him. "You taught many valuable lessons that day," Will said. "Then you stole food and clothes and went home."

"Yes. I walked back in the dark. Miles and miles. And I stayed there, in those crumbling, empty halls, for nearly half a year. Until a messenger from my Uncle Robertus and his wife, Lady Murasaki, tracked me down. Apparently it took some time for Robertus to find me after the Iron Curtain fell. His messenger was very upset I was not at the orphanage where he had been assured that I was being well cared for."

Will thought about Chiyoh. "You tracked that man down, Mischa's killer, when you were older."

"Oh yes," Hannibal hissed.

"But first you went back to the castle with Chiyoh."

"Yes."

"To commemorate Mischa."

"Yes and no."

Will squinted at him. "To find something of hers. What was it?"

Hannibal hesitated.

"Tell me," Will insisted.

"A bracelet. I hid it in the mouth of a stuffed boar’s head when I heard the women from the orphanage coming up the driveway." Hannibal's hands clenched briefly into fists, his nails biting into his palms, nearly overwhelmed with rage and regret.

"But you don't have it anymore," Will realized.

"No. It was in the house in Baltimore. It could be anywhere now."

( _i wish i had known that. i might have gotten it back for you_ ) "You saw Mischa’s killer while you were home?"

"I had suspected he was local, but I hadn’t expected to find him so easily. He was serving in a cafe in a market town where Chiyoh and I stopped for lunch. An old man. Of course, he didn’t recognize me. I grabbed him that night and dragged him back to the castle."

"But Chiyoh stopped you from killing him."

"She did."

"So you gave him to her to watch over."

"Yes."

"As punishment."

Hannibal shook his head. "No."

“As a lesson then or a challenge."

"Yes. One she rose to bravely, after a time. And with your help," Hannibal acknowledged.

They were coming to the end of this game now. Will could feel it. The fear and hurt and fury were draining from Hannibal. From him. Leaving them cold and empty. Neither declared the victor.

Will decided he would brew them some tea, but first he would offer this last piece. He gifted Hannibal with a dark smile. "I made him into a beacon for you, a monument, after she killed him."

"Did you?" Hannibal asked, breathing easier now, a pleased smile dawning on his face. "What did you do with him?"

"I turned him into a firefly. I cocooned him in rope and gave him wings made of bones and broken glass. Then I covered him in snails and strung him up for you, although I knew you would never see it.”

Hannibal licked his lips. "Beautiful," he whispered. "I wish I had seen that."

Will left the gutting table then and headed towards the companionway. As he passed, he put his hand gently on Hannibal’s shoulder.

“Will,” Hannibal called uncertainly after him.

“I’ll be right back,” Will reassured him. “I want to put the kettle on."

Hannibal waited for him. It looked as though he was watching the waves, but he was inside himself, probing at the rotting rooms he’d kept braced shut for decades, feeling for what was different and what was gone.

When Will returned, he had an afghan from the carved chest in Hannibal’s room slung over his arm and two mugs of strong hot tea sweetened with honey. A little indulgence. He put the mugs on the center table in the aft cockpit and threw the blanket around Hannibal’s shoulders.

“All this is hardly necessary, Will,” Hannibal protested. “But thank you anyway.”

“It seems necessary,” Will said, sitting down beside him. “You’re shivering.”

Hannibal pulled the blanket around himself, touched by Will's efforts to care for him. He wrapped his hands around the mug and let it warm him. He took a long swallow of the tea without allowing it to cool so that he could feel it burn the length of his throat. “I believe that’s the most I’ve ever told anyone about those frozen years.”

Will nodded, blowing on his tea. “Maybe you needed to tell.”

“Maybe I needed to tell _you_.”

“Maybe.”

“It didn’t make me who am, Will,” Hannibal warned suddenly. “Not entirely. It’s not that easy.”

Will sipped his tea and looked at Hannibal sidelong. ( _i see you_ ) “You have always been what you were born to be, I suspect.”

Hannibal let out a shaky breath and clutched the afghan a little closer. He gave Will a scant smile that did not quite reach his eyes. “I told you that you had the aptitude.” 

Will smiled gently in return. “I’ve heard my bedside manner could use a little work.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made liberal use of Google Translate. The Russian is rendered phonetically and is probably wrong. The Lithuanian is probably wrong also. I read Hannibal a million years ago and I didn't read Hannibal Rising at all, so this backstory probably isn't compliant with the books.


	22. Chapter 22

Will wanted to make the snapper he’d caught that afternoon into something warm and comforting and familiar. Something that might fill the starving hollows in Hannibal’s exposed memories and soothe their cutting edge. He engaged the windvane and descended belowdecks, grabbing his t-shirt off the railing as he went. He insisted Hannibal accompany him down, reluctant to leave him alone with his thoughts on the barren deck.

At the base of the companionway, Will yanked his t-shirt over his head, hissing as it scraped his sunburned back. Then he turned to Hannibal and pulled the afghan a little tighter around his tense shoulders, crossing the edges over his chest. He wanted to hold him suddenly. To take on some of the bleak winter chill he’d invoked. But the moment seemed to be slipping away.

“You could lie down until dinner is ready… if you want,” Will said hesitantly, still holding the hem of the blanket.

Hannibal rubbed a hand through his beard and gave Will an indecipherable look. “Thank you, Will, but I assure you I am entirely fine.”

Will let go of the afghan and put his hands up in acquiescence. “Ok. Ok.”

Hannibal turned and walked towards the sitting room, starting to slide the afghan from his shoulders as he went.

“At least keep the blanket on awhile longer,” Will called after him.

Hannibal lifted one hand in terse acknowledgment and pulled the afghan closed again with the other.

Will looked anxiously after him for a moment, thinking that he should follow and then wondering what he would say if he did. He shook his head and went into the galley to start dinner. A few minutes later, the clattering of cabinet doors started reverberating through the belly of the ship.

“Hannibal,” Will called from the kitchen. ”Is there cornmeal on this boat?”

Hannibal crossed from the sitting room where he’d been browsing through the cds. Will could hear the faint strains of orchestra music rising in crescendo just as Hannibal appeared in the arched galley doorway. Will raised an eyebrow at him. ( _do you actually plan these dramatic moments or do they just happen to you?_ ) Hannibal gave him a slightly confused look in response.

Will sighed. “Is there cornmeal on this boat?” he repeated.

“I don’t believe so. I think we have a sealed canister of grits in the cabinet with the rice though. Would that work for what you have in mind?”

Wil squinted at him. “I’m having trouble imagining you eating grits.”

Hannibal shrugged. “I thought you might like it. I understand it’s a common dish in the southern states.”

Southern comfort food, Will thought. You stocked your _getaway ship_ with southern comfort food. For me. ( _what else do you have hidden away in this kitchen? blackeyed peas? chicory? homefuckingcanned georgia peaches?_ ) His throat tightened with sudden and unexpected anguish. ( _my god_ _what is this life?)_

“Will?” Hannibal asked with concern. “What is it?”

Will crossed one arm protectively over his chest. “It’s nothing.”

Hannibal stood at an angle to him, so close their shoulders were nearly touching. He wanted to pull Will into his arms and hold him against whatever was upsetting him, but he could not quite bring himself to close the drowning space between them. Instead, he fell back on old patterns, reaching for Will’s mind with his own.

“Have you always had difficulty allowing others to care for you, Will?”

Will shook his head and wiped a wash of unexpected moisture from his eyes with the back of his hand. “I don’t.”

“You do," Hannibal countered. "At least since I’ve known you and likely before that as well.”

Will shook his head again, not in disagreement, but in rejection of this new line of insidious questioning. He felt raw in the aftermath of their earlier sparring, carved out and over-sensitive. He angled his body further away, as if to deflect any additional prying. He had pushed Hannibal into the cold caverns in the floor of his mind and he was determined to warm him up again. To wrap him in comfort, despite his disingenuous protests, until he could no longer feel the cling of icy breath.  He refused to allow Hannibal to make this somehow about him instead.

“I am making dinner for you,” Will stated resolutely. “Snapper fried in cornmeal, or grits I guess, and spices. A little salt and pepper.”

“Butter spooned over?” Hannibal finished softly, thinking of the first time Will had recited this boyhood recipe to him.

Will gave him a strained smile of acknowledgement. “I would, but there’s no butter on board. I’ll make dirty rice too. Or…as close as I can get to dirty rice with what’s here. It’s not fancy, but it’s filling.”

“Simple and comforting,” Hannibal agreed. “And delicious.” He tilted his head and regarded Will steadily. “You challenged me to invoke the spectres of the past and now you would ease their bite with soft blankets, and sweet, hot tea, and a warm meal.” He waited until Will was looking in his general direction again before he continued. “You would care for me, Will,” he said quietly.  “Even knowing, now more than anyone left alive, what I am. Is it really so difficult to accept that I would take care of you?”

Will shivered to hear it put so bluntly. He wrapped his arms around himself, as though Hannibal’s tenderness was unbearable. “I know you...” He closed his eyes and tucked his chin, his mouth working against misery. “I know you care about me, Hannibal.” He laughed sickly, his voice thick with sorrow. “I’m not entirely sure why, but I know you do.” ( _or at least you think you do_ ).

Hannibal narrowed his eyes. Beautiful Will, he thought with staggering disbelief. How can you see everything else so clearly and still not see this?

He turned to face Will directly and started to reach for him. To take his hand. To put an arm around his shoulder. Something. Anything. Anything that would put an end to this tremulous deadlock. But before Hannibal could step any closer, Will put his trembling hands up in front of his chest to stop him. When Hannibal opened his mouth to respond, he found that he was out of words.

Together they waited, keeping their uneasy thoughts to themselves as the tense silence swelled. Finally, Hannibal relented and stepped away, resigned to Will’s resistance and convinced they would make no further progress along this road tonight. 

“Shall I sous chef for you?” Hannibal asked with superficial serenity.

Will dropped his hands and fisted them in the hem of his t-shirt. He could still feel Hannibal all along the side of his body- a line of radiant warmth like a phantom twin. Out of habit, he started to decline Hannibal’s offer of help. Then he changed his mind, unwilling to let him leave just yet. “Yes,” he nodded.

“What do you need?” Hannibal asked, walking over to the spice cabinet.

( _good question_ ) Will braced his hands against the counter momentarily, feeling giddy and unbalanced. When his mind was re-oriented to the task at hand and he was steady again, he pulled the filleted fish out of the refrigerator and set them on a plate in the steel sink.

“Some of the fresh garlic would be good,” he said. He looked around the galley. “Um. Salt and pepper, which is…by the stove already. We’re out of the fresh vegetables from Hatteras, but I thought I saw freeze-dried in there. Are there onions, maybe bell peppers?”

“Yes,” Hannibal replied. “We have both- dried onions and dehydrated green and red peppers.”

Will crossed the narrow kitchen towards the spice cabinet, intent on making it through this dinner without further conflict. He peered into the compartment over Hannibal’s shoulder to see what else was available. Hannibal startled, feeling Will suddenly warm at his back, the sweep of his breath raising the hairs on his neck.

“Thyme, basil, oregano,” Will listed over Hannibal’s shoulder, unaware of the minute shiver that passed through Hannibal’s body as he spoke. “Smoked paprika. That’s excellent. And cayenne. Perfect. Do you like spicy?”

By the time Hannibal had gathered his thoughts to respond, Will had already moved on. The tips of his fingers brushed Hannibal’s back as he turned and walked away. He knelt to retrieve a glass dish from one of the bottom compartments on the other side of the kitchen.

“Hannibal?” he called, his voice dampened by the opened cabinet door. “Ok?”

“Yes, of course,” Hannibal said distantly, his attention still caught on the echo of Will’s hand against his back. He cast around for a neutral topic to distract himself from his persistent awareness of Will’s nearness in the narrow room. “Spicy is fine. Good, actually. You know, it’s more of a sensation than a taste.”

“What’s that?” Will asked as he stood up.

“Spicy. It’s more sensation than taste,” Hannibal declaimed.

“Oh, right. Capsaicin and piperine. Yeah, they… they activate pain sensors not tastebuds,” Will said, unknowingly cutting Hannibal’s little lecture short before he could even warm to the subject. “Lots of chemistry and biology in a forensics master,” he reminded Hannibal in response to his mildly disappointed expression.

Will carefully set the glass dish he’d found on the steel counter and poured a cup of grits into it. He added salt and pepper and some of the spices Hannibal had set out for him then stirred the mix with his hands until he was satisfied with it. He slid around Hannibal to put a pot on the stove for the rice, their bodies brushing briefly in the small space.

Hannibal leaned against the counter to watch Will move through the practiced steps of this childhood recipe before recalling that he had offered to help. He walked to the tall cabinet at the end of the pantry and pulled out a bottle of wine and two glasses. He poured the wine slowly into a decanter. The red liquid splashed up the curved glass sides.

“L’Avenir Pinotage 1999?” he asked.

“Sure,” Will agreed absently. “Sounds great.”

He set the garlic on the cutting board and started to mince it with a large chef’s knife that was nearby. Hannibal came over and put his hand over Will’s. Gingerly, as though he might shy away.

“May I show you?”

Delicate warmth spread up Will’s arm from the faint press of Hannibal’s hand and he felt his cheeks flush. For weeks there had been a strange dangerous energy snapping between them that he could not seem to defuse or dispel or ignore out of existence. He glanced over at Hannibal for a moment and flashed him a tentative smile. Hannibal felt a sharp, fleeting tightness like talons digging into his heart.

“You can take over if you need to,” Will offered, misreading the strain he could see in Hannibal’s face. “I know this is your area.”

“Not at all,” Hannibal responded, blinking slowly as though waking.  “If I could just make a suggestion… .” He pulled a smaller knife of folded Damascus steel out of the block and handed it to Will. “I showed you this trick the first time we cooked together,” he said, thinking of snares and betrayal as he guided Will’s hand. “Do you remember it? Put the end of the blade down. Don’t pull through. Make a rocking motion with it. And be careful.” He bent Will’s fingers into his palm then swept his thumb over them, almost accidentally, as he let go. 

When Will was done, he twisted his hips to slide past Hannibal to the stove again, shaken by a sense of déjà vu and dogged by the phantom scent of ginger and death. He poured olive oil into the pot and set a flame under it. When it was hot enough, he scraped the garlic off the cutting board into the popping oil. Then he added the rice and some spices to the pot and stirred them with a marled olivewood spoon.

Hannibal stepped towards the stove and looked over Will’s shoulder with interest. “You’re toasting the rice first?”

Will’s heart raced for a moment, feeling Hannibal standing just behind him. “ _Wi_ ,” he responded, sliding into Creole. “I learned it from Gogo Hattie, the desk sergeant’s grandmother. She brought a batch to the station every Mardi Gras and she taught _tout moun_ how to make it.” He grinned at the memory. “It’s very satisfying. I think you’ll like it. At least, I hope you do.”

When the rice was pearly and the garlic and spices browned, Will added a can of chicken broth and the dehydrated vegetables. “Dirty rice usually has ground pork in it or chicken,” he said, “which… we haven’t taken on yet.”

He tapped his fingers on the counter while he waited for the liquid to boil, considering possible substitutes. We really need to make port, he thought. To take on fuel and fresh food.

“Will this do?” Hannibal asked, handing him an unlabeled, vacuum-sealed package of dried sausage from the refrigerator.

Will looked at him sharply then pulled the package open and set the meat skeptically on the cutting board. “Let me guess,” he said bitterly, before he could stop himself. “Boorish waiter? Insufficiently obsequious tailor maybe?”  

“It’s andouille,” Hannibal said with dark amusement. “Handmade, of course,” he smirked. “But not by me. It’s a specialty of Milk and Honey Market in Baltimore.”

Will took up the knife he’d used for the garlic, wondering if it was relief he felt or its absence. He knew Hannibal would call this question eventually, but for now, under sail and far from shore, it was moot.

After he was done mincing the safely ordinary sausage, Will put it in a bowl and set it to the side. He lowered the flame under the rice and covered the pot with a glass lid, leaving it to simmer.

Hannibal handed Will his glass of wine. “What else can I get you?” he asked, gesturing broadly with his own glass.

Will shook his head, feeling more stable now that he had something to work on. “I’ve got it from here. It’s really not complicated. I’m just going to dredge the fish in this mix and fry it up. Then we can eat as soon as the rice is done.”

Hannibal hesitated, uncertain if he was being dismissed. He turned to take his wine out into the sitting room, but, before he could leave, Will reached out and caught his sleeve between his fingers.

“Wait,” Will said, touching the tip of his tongue to his wine-stained lips. “Stay. Stay and… let me keep you company.”

Hannibal smiled and leaned his hip against the counter. “With pleasure, Will.”

“What music are we listening to?” Will asked as he coated the fish and placed them carefully in a pan of hot oil.

“It’s Turandot. Do you know it?”

 “I don’t think so. It sounds familiar though. Maybe I heard it in a movie?”

“It’s quite possible. This aria, _Nessun Dorma,_ has been used in a lot of films. The opera is based on a Persian epic poem. In it, Prince Calaf falls in love with Princess Turandot. If he wishes to win her hand, he must pass three tests. The price for any misstep is death.”

Will glanced over at him speculatively. ( _symbols inside symbols_ ) “Does he pass the tests?”

Hannibal sipped his wine, finally feeling it steadying his nerves. “Yes he does, but Turandot refuses to marry him. Prince Calaf tells her that if she can guess his true name before dawn, then he will go to his execution and she will remain free. _Principessa di morte_ , Princess of Death, he calls her.”

 _“Principessa di morte_ ,” Will mused, turning the phrase over in his mouth as he tilted the frying pan to swirl the oil around the fish. ( _am i the sovereign of death in this story or are you?)_

“The Prince eventually gifts Turandot with his true name,” Hannibal continued. “He puts his life into her hands and awaits her decision.”

Will took a long swallow of his wine. “And does she use his true name against him at daybreak?”

Hannibal smiled. “No. She marries him in the end.”

Will raised an eyebrow at that then turned to face the stove again without comment. He stood with his back to Hannibal for a time, poking at the crackling fish with a wooden turner and fidgeting. An image of his younger self perhaps, Hannibal thought affectionately as he passed by to retrieve another bottle of wine.

When the rice was done, Will stirred in the minced sausage and set the fish to drain on a paper towel. Hannibal finished both dishes with sea salt and plated them as well as could be expected in their reduced circumstances.

He and Will sat across from each other on either side of the dining table as they had so many times before in so many versions of this life. Two plates. Two wine glasses. Puccini on the stereo. Hannibal’s eyes closing slightly as he inhaled the savory steam rising from the plate.

“It smells wonderful, Will. Thank you.”

Will ate a forkful of the spicy fried fish. “This crust would be better with a cast iron pan,” he grumbled under his breath.

“I can get one for you when we make port,” Hannibal said automatically, flaking the fish gently with his fork to admire the pale translucency of the flesh beneath the crackling coating.

Will stiffened, rounding his shoulders against the off-handed offer.

Hannibal felt the return of his resistance like a chill. “I can get one for _us_ ,” he amended diplomatically.

“Do you…” Will paused, fiddling with the stem of his wine glass, then started again. “Why do you…” He trailed off, wishing fervently that he hadn’t just re-opened this subject.

“Why do I what?” Hannibal asked, putting his fork aside and folding his hands in front of him.

Will shook his head and drank his wine, declining to answer.

Oh no, Hannibal thought, sliding his tongue over his canines. Not this time. “Why do I want to give you the things you need?” he pressed. “The things you want?”

When Will still refused to speak into the space he was holding open, Hannibal continued with slightly greater impatience. “You accepted this boat without significant distress. But things bought specifically for your comfort obviously upset you. Is it the suggestion of intimacy? Or the feeling that you don’t really deserve them perhaps?”

Will shook his head desperately. “Can we not….” He started crumpling the napkin beside the plate, twisting it into a damp knot. “I don’t want….” He groaned and started over, “I don’t _need_ …”

Hannibal held up his hand to stop the flow of Will’s protests and leaned further forward across the table. The overhead light painted his face with skeletal shadows. “You should have _all_ _the things that you want,_ Will,” he insisted in an unusually vehement tone. ( _and i would give them all to you, if you would let me_ )

 _All_ the things that I want, Will thought. He closed his eyes as the vast overwhelming implications of that rose like a choking fog in his throat. ( _you can’t possibly know the depths of that. even i don’t know them_ )

Hannibal relaxed back against the warm wood bench, cataloging Will’s expression. “Or maybe all this really has nothing to do with what you want,” he suggested lightly, letting the cresting tension break. “Maybe I simply want to repay you for the gifts you’ve given me.”

“What gifts?” Will whispered, tapping his fingers against the table.

Hannibal shrugged. “This meal. Your insight.” He chuckled. “My life.”

“I’m not sure that last one counts,” Will said drily. He stopped wringing the napkin and smoothed it down on the tabletop, feeling the tide of tension ebbing again. “I wouldn’t have had to save your life, if I hadn’t tried to kill you first.” He summoned a wan smile and took a stab at levity. “It seems to be something of a habit of ours.”

“But you did save me,” Hannibal said solemnly. “In the end.”

Will held Hannibal’s gaze and thought of all the moments when he could have made a different choice. When Hannibal clung to life and he pulled him through instead of prying his fingers back. I might have left you on the beach, Will thought helplessly. Unconscious and hideously wounded, as the tide came in. Removed the makeshift tourniquet holding your torn side together. Administered just a little too much of Dr. Andres’s abundant morphine. A dozen possible executions, as easy as anything.

Hannibal watched with adoring and horrified fascination as his myriad deaths streamed across Will’s cloudless eyes like curling smoke. ( _beautiful_ _capricious boy)_

“I couldn’t kill you and I couldn’t watch you die,” Will said finally.

Hannibal’s mouth quirked in a small, bitter expression of acknowledgment and recognition. He spread his hands in a gesture that encompassed all that was between them. “The choices we make when there are no other choices.”

“There are always other choices,” Will said softly. And mine are made, he recalled with abrupt relief. Long since made.


	23. Chapter 23

They were leaning over the gunwale side by side, watching the mullet jumping in their wake. Out of the corner of his eye, Hannibal saw Will absently twisting and twisting a wedding ring that was no longer there. He’d noticed its absence immediately, but he’d planned to hold off on asking about it until a suitable time had passed. After the white band of skin where it had once been had tanned and blended in with the rest of Will’s hand. After Will had stopped compulsively and unconsciously reaching for it whenever it was quiet. But Will beat him to it.

“You want to know if I miss them?” he asked, looking out at the vast, churning sea. “My family?”

 _I_ am your family, Hannibal thought caustically.

“My old life, lingering in the shadows?”

“Do you?”

“Yes.” Will said flatly.

Hannibal flinched in surprise at his bluntness. Will watched the waves and let the crushing silence expand to fill the world as he gathered his thoughts. Hannibal could barely breathe under the weight of it.

“And no,” Will continued pensively. “I think they were the best thing that ever happened to me, but I might have been the worst thing that ever happened to them. And now the whole thing feels like it happened to someone else.” He laughed bitterly. “Like something out of an old book.”

The best thing that ever happened to you, Hannibal thought, clicking his tongue against his teeth in distaste. “Another life entirely," he offered then, unable to stop analyzing. "Shimmering and surreal.”

Will nodded slightly. “Sometimes it felt like a thin scrim of brightly painted paper plastered over a deep hole.”

“Like you could destroy it with a careless touch.”

Will nodded again. “Like… I could put my hand right through it.”

“But it must have given you…”

“For a little while I had…” Will said simultaneously. He trailed off, uncertain of how to explain.

“Peace?” Hannibal suggested in the pause.

“Peace,” Will said with a quizzical expression, as though the word was foreign. He rubbed his hands together restlessly. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Light then,” Hannibal offered with a carefully neutral expression. “Love?” he forced himself to ask.

Will looked up at the sky and swayed sideways with the rock of the boat so that his arm lay alongside Hannibal’s for a moment. Hannibal closed his eyes and savored the brief electric contact.

“Love,” Will said softly as though testing the feel of the word. “Yes.”

Hannibal sensed his hesitation. “Of a kind.”

“Of a kind,” Will repeated in distant agreement as he looked back into the past.

“It’s difficult to love what you can never really see,” Hannibal proposed.

Will shook his head sorrowfully. “I _wanted_ her to know me. I did. I wanted to be… _open_ to her.”

Hannibal’s mouth tightened against a deep flash of jealousy. “You let them know as much as was safe for them to know,” he said with synthetic generosity.

Will leaned against the gunwale with his head in his hands. “When it was quiet,” he began. “At night, when it was quiet. When the snow was falling thick around our little cabin and muffling all the sounds of the world... when all I could hear was the crackling fire and my wife breathing in her sleep beside me… sometimes I would feel this sort of... sick sinking anticipation. Like…like waiting for the doctor to call time of death at the end of a long vigil.”

“As though the cabin was only a temporary harbor. A brief reprieve.”

Will nodded. “But now what I feel is… relief. There’s no more limbo; no more labyrinths; no more lost pilgrims. We’re here.”

“Where is here?”

“Don’t you know?” Will said, clapping Hannibal on the shoulder. “This is the Inferno.”

They turned away from each other simultaneously, as though it were choreographed, and looked back at the ocean. Hannibal felt Will’s brief touch radiate across his exposed skin like heat spreading outwards from a splatter of boiling water.

Other than helping him with his physical therapy, when he could be bullied or cajoled into doing it, Hannibal had hardly touched Will at all since they’d taken the Dragon down together. At first, he’d simply been reluctant to break the spell of days- one flowing into the next into the next, the rhythmic rise and fall of the sun and the sails marking time in the construction of their fragile new life. Now he was reluctant to do anything that would prompt Will to hold him at bay again with that conflicted look in his eyes.

He would wait, he thought. He would hold the door open and wait for Will to walk back through it. In the meantime, he saved these small events- Will putting a hand on his bare back as he passed him on deck or squeezing his shoulder to make a point or end a conversation- hoarding them like gems.

“Do you miss it?” Will asked abruptly, stealing Hannibal’s attention back from the melancholy run of his thoughts.

Hannibal chuckled in mild disbelief. “Working with the FBI?”

Will shrugged. “You seemed to enjoy it. You were good at it. If we…disregard the very obvious fact that you were undermining us at every turn.”

“I miss Jack,” Hannibal admitted. “I liked him, Will.” He glanced at Will fondly out of the corner of his eye. “And I liked watching you work.” ( _cunning boy_ )

Will looked at Hannibal sidelong and then back at the sea. You liked watching me come apart, he thought drily.


	24. Chapter 24

Later that evening, Hannibal made dinner while Will reviewed the chartplotter and the weather reports at the navigation station. Hannibal came out of the kitchen trailing the savory smell of toasting spices and brought him a glass of wine while he worked. He brushed Will’s shoulder as he set it down. Will looked up at him with a brief bright smile that Hannibal could feel in the pit of his stomach.

“Trying to get me drunk?” Will joked when Hannibal brought him a second glass.                

“Nothing wrong with a little self-medication,” Hannibal said lightly. “It’s been a difficult few days.”

Will inclined his head in acknowledgment and lifted the glass in thanks.

When he was done cooking, Hannibal set the table to his limited satisfaction and called Will to dinner.

“There’s a squall warning tonight,” Will said while they were eating. “I’m going to set a watch.”

“Would you like me to split it with you?”

“No, that’s ok. I’ll take it.”

Will poured them each another glass of wine, finishing the second bottle.

When they were done with dinner, Hannibal carried the dishes into the galley. He returned with a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. He set them on the table then went to rummage through the compartments on the other side of the sitting room.

“Now I know you’re trying to get me drunk,” Will laughed, pouring each of them two fingers of amber whisky.

“Would you like to play a game before your watch?” Hannibal asked, reviewing the contents of the cabinet. “Chess maybe?”

“Cards?” Will countered.

“Two-handed cards,” Hannibal mused. “Gin? Cribbage?”

“Poker?” Will suggested.

Hannibal nodded agreeably. “What stakes would we play for?”

Will grinned and sipped his whisky. “Secrets. Seven card stud. You bet a secret of your choice or the winner’s choice. Then you make your best hand of five out of the cards that you’re dealt. Whoever wins the hand may claim one secret from the loser.”

Hannibal smiled back in charmed surprise.  “You just invented this game?”

“I’d like to say yes to that...but no. In my last year of junior high, my dad and I were living in Bayou Le Batre. I was friends with two girls who lived in the same trailer park as we did- Meg and Anne. One of them, or maybe it was both of them, made it up.”

“Was the game itself a secret?” Hannibal asked.

Will hesitated, obviously thinking of something. “Yes,” he said finally. “It was just for us.”

“In teaching it to me you’ve given away one secret already then,” Hannibal needled.

Will considered that. “You’ll have to win two hands to claim one secret from me then. Fair?”

Hannibal nodded sharply and gave Will a serious little smile.  “I accept your terms.”

“In a row.”

Hannibal pretended to mull this over.  “As you say, Will,” he agreed.

Will dealt the first hand, which Hannibal won. Hannibal dealt the next round, his fingers brushing intentionally against Will’s as he slid the cards across the table. Will felt the touch flare up his arm and raise the hairs on the back of his neck.

“What do you ante?” Hannibal asked.

Will spread his hands in a charmingly careless gesture. “Secret of your choice.”

“Then I’ll bet the same,” Hannibal said with a small sharp grin.

Will turned his cards over. “Pair of queens, pair of aces,” he said with satisfaction.

“Full house,” Hannibal retorted, turning his cards over. “I win this round too, it seems.”

Will sighed and collapsed his hand, tapping the cards against the honeywood table. “Claim your prize then,” he said, tilting his whisky glass in a smart salute.

Hannibal looked at him keenly. “Tell me about playing this game of secrets.”

“The first time?”

“The best time.”

Will closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. He curved his hands around the smooth, cool glass sides of the tumbler. “Meg and Annie and I snuck out one night to go camping in a big field near the park,” he said. “It had been a hot summer. The grass was dry. There was a dusty sweet smell when we walked on it. When we set our tent on it. But that night was humid. There was heat lightning. We made a small fire on a circle of gravel. It was really too hot for it, but we wanted to roast marshmallows. I used my pocketknife to cut the greensticks from a tree on the bank of a little river nearby.”

As Will talked, his accent broadened and deepened, becoming more completely southern than Hannibal had ever heard from him. " _Little river_ " sliding liquidly into " _lilrivvah_." It’s _entirely_ unconscious, Hannibal thought, listening with true fascination. I don’t believe he hears it at all.

Hannibal closed his eyes and stood beside Will in the field of his memory. Together they watched from the dark just beyond the circle of flame. Will and his friends at fourteen. Giddy and coltish. Mouths and fingers sticky with caramelized sugar. When the wind started to rise, Hannibal could smell the cool steel of the river water.

“Meg and Annie changed into tank tops and light cotton shorts behind the tent,” Will continued. “I was just going to wear my boxers to sleep. It was so hot. But I ended up leaving my t-shirt on. It just felt too...” Will fluttered his hand trying to explain. "Their pajamas were so thin. They seemed almost naked....  We unrolled our sleeping bags side by side in the tent and sat cross-legged in a little circle. I set up the lantern and Annie brought out her deck of cards and suggested we play Secrets.”

Will and Hannibal watched from the parched field as this scene unfolded, framed by the triangle opening of the tent flaps, lit by the orange blaze of the small fire and the faint white light of the lantern.

“I lost hand after hand,” Will smiled. “They were cheating outrageously. Someone was always cheating. It was part of the game. Dealing off the bottom of the deck. Cards hidden in pockets. _Extra_ cards sometimes. Annie always had extra cards.”

“I notice you neglected to tell me about this acceptable treachery when we started playing,” Hannibal said, raising an eyebrow at him.

Will shrugged as if to say, _I’m not about to help you win_. “The last hand we played that night, Annie and I lost to Meg.” Will paused. “We had all anted winner’s choice. Meg and Anne looked at each other. Then they squirmed a little closer to me. Their knees almost touching mine. Meg asked me if I had ever kissed anybody.”

“Had you?”

Will shook his head. “No. Then Meg asked Annie if she wanted to kiss me.”

“Had this game been sexual before?”

“There was often something…fraught in it I guess. But nothing overtly sexual. Usually the secrets we bet and claimed were future plans or gossip from school- who liked who. Occasionally it was worse, things you never wanted to know.” Will closed his eyes inside his memory. ( _annie’s father wasn’t really deployed with the army, he was in jail for trying to kill her mom. the thing with meg and her older brother that annie and i begged her to tell somebody else about.)_ Will kept these thoughts to himself. They were not his secrets to share. Those were the rules.

“Meg and Anne stretched out on their sleeping bags on either side of me and leaned up on their elbows. Waiting for me. So, I lay down on my back between them. I remember my hands felt too big. I didn’t know what to do with them. So, I crossed them over my belly. When I was done fidgeting, Annie leaned over and kissed me. Just softly. Her lips were dry and still a little sticky. And it was over almost before it started. Then she told Meg to kiss me.”

Will stopped talking again and cleared his throat, returning to the present. Hannibal watched raptly as a thin blush rose in his cheeks. Will took a long swallow of whisky, draining his glass.

“And did Meg kiss you?” Hannibal prompted.

Will laughed, lush and expansive. “Oh no. No more questions from you. One secret per hand. If you ask a question, you split the secret. If you want to know more, you’ll have to win another round.”

“Changing the rules again?” Hannibal asked tartly.

“Those _are_ the rules! I shouldn’t have answered any of your questions to begin with.” Will poured them each another drink. “Keep up,” he said, gesturing at Hannibal's glass with the bottle. “And deal.”

Hannibal dealt the next hand and anted winner’s choice. Will anted player’s choice.

“Two pairs,” Hannibal said. “Aces and eights.”

Will grinned at him. “Full house. Three queens. Two fives. I win.“

“Claim your secret then, Will.”

Will sipped his whisky, savoring the smoky burn. His bare foot grazed Hannibal’s calf under the table as he leaned back, languid and loose-limbed. Intentional or unintentional, Hannibal wondered.

“Tell me about Étienne,” Will said, giving the name a Creole twist.

“What do you want to know?”

“Something you’ve never told anyone else of course.”

“Easy enough,” Hannibal began. “There’s much I’ve never told anyone.” ( _but you may have it all…if you like_ ) He let his eyes fall closed. In his mind, he strolled down a long hall and opened a door into Paris in the late 70s. Intermittent spring rain. A riot of early flowers. The smell of wet earth and stone. Hannibal followed his younger self into the music studio across the street from their boarding school.

“Étienne was very… _sweet_ to me,” Hannibal said. “I was leery of being touched, but he treated it like an invitation when I flinched instead of a warning, as everyone else did. He was always putting his hands over mine at the piano. Squeezing my shoulder when I did well then sliding his thumb along the curve of my neck. Coaxing me closer.”

“How old were you?” Will asked and then clapped a hand over his mouth. “Damnit.”

Hannibal laughed. “You may have that one for free,” he said. “Since we’re apparently allowed to change the rules of the game as we go along.”

“I was sixteen,” he continued. “Étienne was twenty. I had all the trappings of wealth, thanks to my uncle, but I was…different and my first classmates were quite wary of me.”

Before you learned to hide so well, Will thought.

“Étienne never really was.” Hannibal mulled that over. “At least, not at the beginning,” he corrected. He paused for a long moment to see if he could entice Will into asking another question. Will tilted his head to the side, raised an eyebrow as if to say _good effort,_ and put his hand over his mouth.

Hannibal grinned at him and kept going. “He taught me to kiss,” he said, holding Will’s gaze and dragging his thumb deliberately across his own mouth. He could hear Will’s breathing pick up _. I win_ , he thought, even as his own cheeks flushed slightly with the memory.

“Étienne put his hand to my cheek one day while we were sitting on the piano bench. I tried to pull back, but he wouldn’t let me. He took my face in his hands, closed his eyes, and kissed me. He was gentle. I was startled. I froze. I could see the sunlight glinting off his eyelashes. When he pulled back, he realized my eyes were still open. He laughed and yanked the black scarf from around his neck and put it over my eyes.  He held the ends in one hand and used it to tilt my head to the side. He pressed his lips to mine. “ _Ouvre_ ,” he whispered against my mouth. So I did.”

Hannibal trailed off, thinking about the feel of Étienne’s tongue sliding into his mouth. How shocking it had been. How his first impulse, immediately suppressed, had been to bite him. And then how electric- the taste of him. Hannibal recalled the unbearable heat that suffused his whole body and how he’d pulled Etienne against him hungrily…wanting. Wanting nothing but the give of his mouth forever. Or at least, wanting nothing but that until the next thing Étienne taught him.

Will watched this scene take place in the shadows around Hannibal’s body as he talked and then in the expressions on his face when he stopped talking, caught in the memory. Will saw the lavish music room without being told. The shining black grand piano. Hannibal, wealthy again, but no longer accustomed to wealth- fine fabrics hanging awkwardly on his thin frame. Recently well-fed, but still feral. Trembling and shy and uncertain as Étienne kissed him. The first helpless instinct to bite. Will felt slight slicing jealousy, wondering if Étienne was the last person to see Hannibal that way, before he finished construction on the nearly impenetrable armor he wore now.

“Tell me,” Will whispered finally, enthralled.

Hannibal sat back, triumphant. Ready to declare the secret split and demand Will deal and win another hand before he told any more.

“ _Tell me_ is a statement. Not a question,” Will interposed immediately, before Hannibal could say anything.

Hannibal gave him an incredulous look.

Will shrugged, smiling. “These are the rules. I didn’t make them up.”

Hannibal gave him the slow snaky smile that meant retaliation and picked up the story a little further forward in time. “Étienne often treated me like a little pet. Stroking my hair. Inviting me to sit at his feet while he played piano.” Hannibal paused and licked his lips.

“Sometimes, when I would suck his cock,” he said, speaking slowly so that Will would catch the lash of every word, “he would pull back at the last moment, dragging it over my lips, and spill into his hand. Then he would offer his palm to me and tell me to lick it off.”

This scene didn’t unfold for Will so much as burst bright, arriving all at once like a firework: Hannibal on his knees at the foot of the grand piano, lips flushed and swollen, looking up from under his eyelashes, and sucking the semen from another boy’s fingers. Will drew a sharp breath and flushed hot and shaky, pierced by an unexpected spike of overwhelming lust. Then he felt a flash of guilty concern for Hannibal. “That sounds…sadistic.”

Hannibal shook his head fondly. “It was often tangled in my own mind, humiliation and desire together, but it was only ever a game to Étienne. A lark. ‘ _Ici, minou_ ,’ he would call to me. ‘ _Bois_ _ton lait_.’” Hannibal chuckled. “He didn’t mean anything by it. Pretty, spoiled thing. He didn’t know how to mean anything by it.”

“He had no idea what he was playing with,” Will concluded darkly, wondering what had happened to Etienne in the end.

“No,” Hannibal agreed smugly. “He did not.”

But I do, Will thought.

But you do, Hannibal thought at the same time.

For a moment, they both saw Will in Etienne’s place, unknowingly sharing the same hypothetical memory. Will as he would have been at Étienne’s age- twenty years old and just out of the police academy. A little more clean-cut and a little more cocky than he would be once the work started to leave its mark. A world away from Étienne’s pretty privileged playfulness. Will standing over Hannibal as he knelt breathless and shaking in his school uniform. Will with his hand wrapped tightly in Hannibal’s hair, telling him to lick the come from his fingers in a tone that brooked no argument.

Hannibal shifted his weight, grimacing as he tried to relieve the pressure of his shorts against his hard cock without adjusting himself rudely at the table. Will pressed his thighs together against a similar ache and shivered in sympathy.

“That is the end of that particular secret, Will,” Hannibal sighed, spreading his hands to show that they were empty.  “Shall we keep playing?”

“Do you want to?”

“I want to hear the rest of yours.”

Will grinned, easily drunk now. He shuffled the cards brightly. “You’ll have to win to hear the rest.”

“Oh, yes. I’m aware,” Hannibal said confidently.

Will considered him closely for a second before dealing. ( _i have the deck, so you can’t possibly be cheating_ )

Will parceled out the cards and they anted.

This time, Hannibal anted player’s choice, thinking that even if he lost, he would win. He would offer Will another secret from boarding school to see if he could make him blush again. He was curious whether it was Etienne’s childish power games that had thrilled him so or something else. This game is actually quite useful, he thought.

Will generously anted winner’s choice, to give Hannibal a chance to ask for the rest of the secret he’d split with his questions.

Will picked up his cards and concealed a smile, poorly. He bit his lip, waiting for Hannibal. Hannibal reviewed his cards and sorted them, his face completely blank. At Will’s signal, they turned their cards over.

Will had four aces and a queen of diamonds. He looked at Hannibal expectantly, losing his grip on the grin he’d only barely suppressed when he first picked up his cards. In response, Hannibal laid his cards out one at a time for maximum effect.  Ten of hearts. Jack of hearts. Queen of hearts. King of hearts. Ace of hearts.

( _you have got to be kidding me_ ) “How many aces are in that deck?” Will exclaimed.

“I understand that cheating is acceptable in this game,” Hannibal said.

“Well…yeah, but where the hell did you get extra cards?”

Hannibal looked at him mildly.

“Alright. Alright. That's well played. Claim your secret.”

“You know what I want to know, Will,” Hannibal said. “Finish your story about the best time you played this game.”

( _that might be now actually_ ) “Where was I?"

“Someone was about to kiss you,” Hannibal whispered.

Will and Hannibal leaned back against the sitting room benches and closed their eyes. Side by side, they crossed the broad stream in Will’s mind and walked back to Bayou La Batre. The dry grass field was far bigger in Will’s memory than it could possibly have been in life. A loose spray of bright summer constellations arced overhead. The small tent, lit by the brave flickering campfire, seemed to hang in the vast black field like one more star.

As they approached the tent, the flaps drew back into the dark like theatre curtains. The rising wind smeared the white lantern light and the orange firelight together into a half-moon around the tent. A sudden gust split it apart into flickering footlights. Will and Hannibal sat on the grass in front of it, like children watching a puppet show in the street. Will leaned back on his hands. His thigh snug against Hannibal’s from hip to knee. One arm crossed companionably close behind Hannibal’s back.

The players sitting static in the remaining outline of the tent took on life as Will picked up the narration. Hannibal could feel the memory of wind soughing with its distant promise of rain and hear the crack of the thunder as he watched.

_Will lay on his back. The wavering light outlined every rib under his thin t-shirt._ _Meg leaned in to kiss Will after Annie drew back. She pressed her lips to his. Softly, as Annie had, but then she whispered, “here, like this” and opened her mouth a little. Will copied her and she slid her tongue into his mouth. His eyes opened wide then fluttered shut. His hands clenched in the folds of the sleeping bag._

“I didn’t know it would feel so good,” Will commented from his seat in the field. His voice quivered and he blushed again. “It didn’t seem like it would feel that good, you know? But it did. It was overwhelming. The feeling of her tongue. And being… you know…being open like that.”

_Meg and Annie leaned into kiss Will together. One on either side of his neck. As they bent over him, they were backlit by the flashing heat lightning. They seemed almost predatory._

“I thought they might bite into my throat.”

“Did you want them to bite you?”

For the first time in this revelation, Will looked ashamed. Hannibal could smell the blood flushing his chest, the flaring notes of spice and heat and copper.  A sharp mouthwatering counterpoint to the scent of the sweet crackling grass beneath them and the warm wood of the ship behind.

“Yes,” Will whispered, too lost in the reconstruction to call Hannibal out for his question.

“Did you ask them to?”

“No! Of course not.”

_Will put his arms around them as they leaned over him. He caressed them tentatively, running his fingers over their sharp shoulder blades. The girls were far less shy. Meg, the most confident of the three, took Annie’s hand in hers and slid their joined hands up under Will’s t-shirt and over his narrow chest. Will shivered and gasped as they touched his bare skin. The girls sat up and Will followed. Hesitantly, they pulled their shirts off over their heads and tossed them. The orange firelight gave them a slightly metallic shimmer, like cast bronze figurines. Meg took Will’s hand and put it on her small breast. He cupped it in his palm and squeezed lightly, glancing up at her nervously. Annie stroked her hands over Will’s bare chest and across his nipples. Will startled and looked over at her. He put his free hand hesitantly on Annie’s breast and rubbed his thumb across her nipple until it was stiff. For a moment, they just stared at each other. Then they started giggling._

“I felt a little ridiculous, holding them like that,” Will whispered. He glanced at Hannibal out of the corner of his eye. He was focused intently on the play of Will’s memory.The firelight had turned the silver in his beard to gold and underlined the hard edge of his cheekbone. Will rubbed a hand over his face shakily and looked back at the tent.

_Will and his friends fell back onto their sleeping bags, still laughing. Then they were suddenly tangled together. Kissing and caressing bare skin, greedy and inexperienced. Will on his back again, his arms around Meg and Annie, pulling them down against him, turning his head to kiss them, one after the other. Watching dazed as they kissed each other over him. Meg and Annie sliding their legs over Will’s thighs, one on either side, almost pinning him down._

“I was drowning in it. It was like they were bleeding into me. I could sort of feel what they wanted. I hardly knew what I wanted. It was all mixed-up.” Will stopped narrating for a moment, his breathing ragged. He blushed furiously, remembering Annie’s little gasp of surprise when she’d pressed her crotch against his thigh. He’d felt the dewy heat of her though the thin cotton shorts. She’d swayed back uncertainly, but Meg had reached across him and put her hand on Annie’s hip to pull her close again.  Meg had said something to Annie then, something like, ‘I told you.’

“They…they were shockingly hot where they were pressed against me. And s-slick when they moved. Slippery.” Will said unsteadily. “My heart…my heart was pounding.” His throat clicked as he swallowed.

Distantly, Hannibal felt Will’s fingers against his as he reached across the sitting room table for his whisky glass. The glancing caress sent sparks spiraling up his arm. He shivered and wrapped his arms around himself where he sat next to Will in the field. Will unconsciously pressed a little closer, as if to steady him.

_Meg looked down at Will intently and slid her hand down over his tensed stomach, along the rise of one bony hip, and down to the top of his shorts. Annie watched wide-eyed as Meg pushed the tips of her fingers under Will’s waistband. Will caught her wrist before she could reach any lower._

“I thought it would be…too much if she touched me,” Will laughed breathily. “I had never been so hard in my life. Just the barest friction of my shorts was almost too much. I put Meg's hand on my chest. Annie looked over at her and then she kissed me and asked if she could touch me over my shorts instead of under. She was blushing and talking so low I could barely hear her. I felt dizzy. I couldn’t bring myself to answer so I just nodded.”

_Annie cupped the front of Will’s shorts and pressed down firmly against his hard flesh. His cock jumped and she yanked her hand back, surprised. She tilted her head, giving it a curious look then she stroked her fingertips lightly over the curve of it. Petting him through the fabric. Will writhed under her caress. He reached out for her, for Meg, pulling them closer, spreading his legs to push firmly into the cradle of their thighs where they were draped over him. Touching and kissing them everywhere he could reach. His body desperate for more._

Will stifled a moan as the memory of boyish longing invaded his body, prickling his skin, making his cock swell throbbing and uncomfortable against the seam of his pants. “My god it was maddening- too much and not enough.”

“Did you make love with them?” Hannibal asked before he could stop himself. Then he waited, chagrined, to see if Will would call the secret split again.

Will laughed, broad and friendly, and the cranking tension broke. They returned to the belly of the ship together and opened their eyes, blinking blearily in the bright incandescent light.

“No. No. It just…trailed off. We kissed until we were tired. Meg and Annie held hands across my chest and we fell asleep curled together. That was the only time…it was like that. The rest of vacation was…normal. Books and bikes and movies. I didn’t see them again after that summer. My dad and I moved to Lake Erie before high school started.”

Will sighed. The reckless desire that had been coiling in his belly was receding leaving him feeling slightly empty and somewhat sore. He was a little disappointed to lose the pleasant sensation, but grateful he would be able to stand without embarrassing himself.

He tapped his cards on the table then folded them into the deck resolutely. “You have a gift for games, Hannibal,” he said. Then he grinned and lifted his shoulders in acknowledgment of the understatement and stood up. “I need to get a little sleep before the night watch. If you’re not awake when I go up, I’ll see you in the morning.”


	25. Chapter 25

Hannibal sat at the table for a time after Will left, turning the pages in his book without really reading it, and listening to the sound of Will rattling around his cabin. He heard the bed creak as Will stretched out on it with a groan. The heavy thud of his belt as he tossed it aside. Then there was almost nothing. When the wind died down, Hannibal realized he could hear the very faint sound of Will breathing. For a long while he held his own breath, until he was nearly dizzy with it, so he could hear Will better.

Will had set his alarm for 1am, planning to take the night watch just before the storm was predicted to embrace their little ship. Hannibal thought he might wait up until Will woke, but he didn’t quite make it. There had been too much wine and too much whisky. Spent adrenaline that left him wrung out and exhausted. When the words started to slide together on the page, he put a placemarker in his book and set it neatly back on the shelf. He gave the door to Will’s cabin a last look before disappearing into his stateroom.

As tired as he was, Hannibal found sleep elusive. The wound in his side ached miserably where he’d braced the muscles tight against desire. And when he closed his eyes, he saw Will again and again- lying on his back, his arms around his little friends as they kissed him and slid their hands curiously over his body. ( _an unusual first sexual experience to be sure._ ) Hannibal shivered, thinking of being the first one ( _the only one_ ) to kiss Will. Pressing Will’s slender trembling body back against the earth with his own.

Not at fourteen though, Hannibal thought drowsily. At fourteen he had been savage and silent and Will had been as gentle as a little deer. ( _i would have torn him apart_ ) At seventeen then, after a year under Etienne’s tutelage. Acceptably civilized and with a freight of new knowledge worth sharing. Hannibal stretched out in his bed and slid his hands over his own body, imagining it. He cupped a hand over his half-hard length and thought about kneeling next to Will in the little tent in the dry grass field and running his fingers over the delicate soft skin stretched over the edges of Will’s ribs, his collarbones, his hips. Leaning possessively over him in the dim firelight and whispering “here, like this” before pulling Will’s thin shorts off and putting his mouth on his stiff cock. He imagined Will’s shy surprise, his helpless quivering arch into pleasure. Hannibal sighed and let himself drift off then to the soothing rock of the ocean with this satisfying image following him into the dark.

On the other side of the swaying ship, Will had fallen asleep to the slap of the waves against the hull and the faint, intermittent whisper of Hannibal turning the pages of his book. When he woke from his tipsy nap, it was passing late and his berth was pitch black. The clouds of the encroaching storm covered the stars entirely and he could see nothing but darkness through the small skylight. He fumbled his way into the empty sitting room and over to the galley, glancing at Hannibal’s closed door.

He quietly brewed a cup of strong black tea and then took it up onto the deck with him along with his copy of The Poisoner’s Handbook. He flicked the safety lights on and set the mug and the book carefully on the gutting table so he could inspect the rigging. When he was satisfied that it was storm-ready, he sat on the deck with his back to the mast, cupping the mug of hot tea in his hands. His book lay beside him unopened, his place marked with a scrap of paper torn from the label of an empty tin can. He stared out at the shimmering little fog rising from the surface of the sea.

Several hours into the watch, the air was crackling with electricity, but the pocket squall he’d been expecting still had not materialized. He was watching the clouds move overhead as they covered and uncovered the stars, and thinking of nothing in particular, when it started. A blueish white light crawling over the mast and down the rigging.

Will gasped and stood up, turning around and around on the deck, eyes wide, trying to take everything in all at once. He’d heard about this, but had never seen it. St. Elmo’s fire. It had to be. Will paused for a moment, in wondering awe, bathed in pale blue light. A boyish smile slowly spread across his face and before he could overthink it, before the light could dissipate, he turned and ran down the companionway to Hannibal’s room. He paused at the closed door, shifting from foot to foot, trying to decide if he should knock or just go in, when it swung open.

“Will?” Hannibal asked, yawning. “Is everything all right? It sounded like you were running.”

Will grasped Hannibal’s arm tightly for a moment and tugged him forward, grinning so widely Hannibal could not help but respond to it.

“I woke you, I know. Everything’s fine. Come up on deck with me. I want to show you something.”

Before Hannibal could answer, Will had turned and bounded back up the steps. Hannibal pulled on his robe and padded along behind in his bare feet, tired but intrigued. He held his hand over the place that Will’s had briefly been, capturing the sweet warmth.

When he reached the deck, he saw Will standing with his back to him, arms outstretched almost as though he were invoking the blueish-white light that was coiling around the tips of the masts and spreading along the shrouds and stays. A staticky breeze lifted his curls and fluttered the edges of the sails around him.

He looked wild and unbound, like a mythic thing, and Hannibal felt a bone-deep spasm of desperate longing for him. Then Will wrapped his arms tightly around himself and turned to look back at Hannibal and was only a man again. ( _beautiful will_ )

“St. Elmo’s fire,” Will said in a low voice, as if he might scare it off. “I’ve never seen it. Have you?”

“I have not,” Hannibal said quietly, intentionally matching Will’s tone. He came carefully closer and stood at Will’s side. “Thank you for sharing this with me, Will. It’s beautiful.”

Will looked at him directly, feeling the subtle strain in Hannibal’s voice. “It _is_ beautiful.” He put his hand on Hannibal’s elbow for a moment. “Will you watch with me?”

“Yes.”

“Here,” Will directed, gesturing at the deck where he’d been sitting. When Hannibal was settled, Will sat next to him and leaned against his shoulder. Hannibal basked in the casual glittering intimacy of it.

“Can you hear that buzzing sound?”

Hannibal cocked his head, listening. Then he smiled minutely. “Yes. I hear it.”

“That’s the sound of the fire,” Will said sleepily. “It’s an electrical weather phenomenon.”

“Is it?” Hannibal said to encourage Will to keep talking, to stay with him a little longer.

Will nodded. “When there’s a thunderstorm, or even a snowstorm sometimes, and there’s a high enough difference in voltage between the clouds and the ground that can give you St. Elmo’s fire.”

“But there’s no thunderstorm tonight.”

“There was one predicted. That’s why I took the night watch. It must be nearby. The voltage makes the air glow and the nitrogen and oxygen in the atmosphere give it that blueish-purple florescence.” Will yawned and gestured upwards. “It concentrates around the pointed parts, the tops of the masts, the edges of the sails. One of my father’s friends said that he saw it around the ends of his fingers once. But, I’m not sure about that. He wasn’t the most reliable guy.”

“It’s mentioned quite often in ancient literature. I understand sailors consider it to be a good omen.”

“Yes, I’ve always heard that too.”

“It was reportedly seen at the top of the Hippodrome during the Siege of Constantinople. It was thought to signal God’s favor of the Christian army.”

“A lot of seafaring cultures consider it evidence of divine intervention,” Will replied. “Sailors say that if the light rises, it presages fair weather, but if it falls, the storm will continue.”

Will continued to yawn as he talked, his eyelids fluttering shut for longer and longer periods, his explanations growing disjointed, until he trailed off altogether. He sighed and leaned a little more firmly against Hannibal’s shoulder, grounded by his solid presence.

In the weeks since they’d left Hatteras, sailing further and further from shore, it had slowly begun to dawn on Will that he was no longer trying desperately to deliver them to safety before they bled out. They were already safe. Or, as safe as they could be. And their terrible wounds had all but healed. They’d moved on from furtive necessity and _he_ had moved, in small and mostly unconsidered acts, from captain to companion. The sound of _real, real, real_ had been beating alongside his heart and now, as he dozed against Hannibal in the electric crackling silence, he could almost hear it.

Hannibal looked down curiously as he felt Will’s weight rest more heavily against his shoulder. His breathing was deeper and more even. He was nearly asleep. Hannibal wanted to put his arm around him, to pull him just a little closer, but he didn’t want to wake him. Instead, he simply shifted his weight to get more comfortable and leaned back against the mast. He tipped his head back, watching the blue light chase along the rigging. He could wait. There would be time.


	26. Chapter 26

Hannibal stood in front of the full length mirror in the stateroom with the surgical shears near to hand. It had been nearly six weeks since the Dragon’s bullet had pierced his side. He removed the gauze bandage and medical tape covering the ragged starfish mark of the exit wound and pressed his fingers experimentally into the muscle. There was a dull, residual ache, but the wound was well-healed. The deep secondary sutures had finally dissolved and the second set of nylon stitches holding the torn edges of superficial tissue together could be removed.

He looked down at himself and began cutting the knots holding the sutures in place. He pulled them free one by one and tossed them into the wastebasket with the gauze and tape. When he was finished, he stepped into the ensuite head to rinse off.

Hannibal wrapped a towel around his waist and wiped the steam away from the small bathroom mirror.  He peered at himself critically and rubbed a hand over his silvery beard with a frown. The salt and the baking sun had left his face uncomfortably dry and constantly itchy. And there was absolutely no proper beard oil on this boat. It would have to go, he decided. Hannibal set his shaving soap and brush on the narrow edge of the small steel sink and went looking for his straight razor.

He swirled the brush in the wet soap and spread the thick lather over his face. As he scraped the blade over his cheeks, he thought again about the blue fire crackling over the ship the previous night, raising the hair on the back of his neck. The image of Will bathed in the revenant light, arms outstretched, as though calling down the storm. The feeling of Will resting, trusting, half asleep against his shoulder.

When Hannibal was content that his face was completely smooth, he rinsed the suds off and patted his cheeks with a warming spice and citrus aftershave. He turned his head side to side, regarding his reflection, wondering when Will would notice and if he would like it when he did. Wondering, for that matter, whether Will would like this new aftershave or if he should pick up something else when they made port.

Hannibal considered these thoughts closely for a moment then took the towel off his waist and hung it on a hook. He walked naked to the closet to sort through his clothes. He was looking for something that might draw Will’s attention, something that he might respond to, if only subconsciously. He wants Will to find him beautiful and he will not pretend otherwise to himself.

He pushed aside hanger after hanger, regretfully dismissing the suits. ( _clearly inappropriate for sailing and too obvious in any case_ ) Even the tropical linen suit was probably out, he thought. After deliberating for an excessive amount of time, Hannibal decided on his most tailored sailing clothes- a close-fitting, pale blue on blue patterned short sleeved shirt and lightweight cream linen trousers. They were truly more suited to casual yachting than this intercontinental escape, he thought, but one had to make do.

He let the shirt hang open from his shoulders and appraised himself in the mirror. He ran his hand over his chest with rare insecurity. He was still fit, he thought. He hadn’t been swimming or running in years, but the sailing was hard enough work. He rubbed his smooth cheeks with his hands. He definitely looked younger without the beard. Did that matter?

He turned to check the fit of the pants over his shoulder. He’d lost weight in prison and the trousers didn’t cling the way they had when he’d bought them. He considered changing into the linen suit after all, but decided against it. When he was relatively satisfied, he gave himself a last look in the mirror and headed towards the deck.

Will was sitting in the aft cockpit with another glass of the deep red wine they’d had with dinner, watching the sun disappear over the horizon. The sky was beginning to go a bruisey purple and the air was charged again as it had been last night. The big storm was still lingering nearby, but the weather reports were all over the place on its predicted track. Will glanced up at the mast, debating whether to reef the sails entirely or run them out and head for one the small keys nearby.

In the back of his mind, far below considerations of shelter and weather, he was thinking of blueish-white St. Elmo’s fire racing along the rigging and raising the hairs on the back of his neck. Of dozing against Hannibal’s solid shoulder. Of waking at dawn, alone on the deck, with his head pillowed on Hannibal’s folded robe. The fading scent of his soap lingering in his nose.

Will threw back the last of his wine and stretched languidly from fingers to toes in the faintly crackling air, feeling slow and syrupy and just a little drunk. The distant electrical storm was making his skin feel hot and oversensitive. He stroked his hand idly over his chest and shivered at the faintly thrilling prickle of the staticky fabric against his body.

When he heard Hannibal coming up the companionway, he stood unsteadily and turned, meaning to offer him a glass of wine. Or, to open a new bottle since it seemed he’d finished this one. He noticed the missing gauze bandage first- there was a clear, almost cartoonish, white outline on Hannibal’s tanned side where it had been.

Will grinned and shook his head. “Did you take out your own stitches? I would have helped you with that.” He set his empty wine glass down and walked closer to look at the ragged, pale pink scar. “How does it feel?”

“The muscles are sore, but the wound closed well. Far better than I expected under the circumstances.” Hannibal’s mouth quirked in a small smile.  “As you say, I think I’ll live.”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Will replied absently, distracted now by Hannibal’s smooth face. “And you did this too.” Without any thought at all beyond immediate curiosity, Will reached out, hand curved, and glided the backs of his fingers over Hannibal’s freshly shaven cheek then cupped it in his rough palm.

Hannibal froze, blinking rapidly in delighted surprise. ( _oh will_ ) Slowly, as though not to startle him, he covered Will’s hand with his own, holding it to his face. He let his eyes drift closed, shutting out everything else, memorizing the feel of Will’s palm against his newly sensitive skin.

Will inhaled sharply at the unexpected jolt of heat that flooded his body. A pale blush started to paint his cheeks. His breath came short and fast and his throat worked against a surfeit of emotion as he watched Hannibal bask so openly in the simple touch. Fear and desire chased across Will’s face. There was an almost audible cracking, like a branch in winter, as his survival strength gave way to long-delayed longing.

He swallowed hard and ran his thumb gently along Hannibal’s angular cheekbone. He stroked the thin tender skin below Hannibal’s eye and over his fluttering lashes. He caressed the delicate shell of Hannibal’s ear with the tips of his fingers, making him shiver. Then he trailed his thumb across Hannibal’s mouth and down the xylophone column of his throat. Finally, he set his hand gently on Hannibal’s bare chest over his heart.

When had Will last touched him so tenderly, Hannibal wondered, without then immediately trying to drown him? Hannibal opened his eyes cautiously to see Will looking at him sidelong. His cheeks flushed. His expression soft and sweet and flustered.  Hannibal held his arms out slightly from his sides in hesitant invitation and shuddered with unimaginable relief when Will stepped into them.

Will draped one arm around Hannibal’s neck and curved the other around his waist under his shirt. His breath hitched in his throat as he leaned his cheek against Hannibal’s broad chest. Asking to be held, as he had when they’d stood suspended over the roiling Atlantic, a handsbreadth from disaster. We are still here, Will thought. Still here. And real.

Hannibal wrapped his arms around Will and pulled him close, letting out a breath he'd been holding since they'd fallen- delivered to a death of Will's design, the ocean closing over them suffocating and cold. He swept his fingers through Will’s soft curls over and over. Watching the dying daylight glint off the sun-bleached copper strands. Content just to hold him again. With his permission. At his invitation. ( _finally finally_ ) He cataloged the minute trembling of Will’s body against his, the radiant heat of his skin, the stuttering catch of his breathing. The familiar smell of him- warm and spicy and delicious. Mine, he thought triumphantly.

Will closed his eyes, breathing erratically as Hannibal combed his calloused fingers through his hair, sending a tingling, prickling warmth cascading down his spine. He pressed his body languidly to Hannibal’s and buried his face in his chest. Hannibal embraced him more firmly in response, pulling him closer and cradling the back of his head. His restless hands stroked Will’s neck, his shoulders, his back as they clung to each other like the sole survivors of a terrible wreck.

It’s so good, Will thought with nervy relief, to be touched again. To feel Hannibal’s hands on him again. Hands that had sent countless innocents to their deaths. Strong, clever, brutal hands that had betrayed him and saved him. Will felt a deep heat start to coil in his belly and spread through him as he became attuned to the truth of Hannibal’s bare body beneath his cheek and under his hands- the solid muscles of his chest and back, the increasing rhythm of his heart, the rising flush spreading over his skin. Will stroked his fingertips experimentally along the nape of Hannibal’s neck beneath his long hair and felt him tremble. Can I ever forgive myself, he wondered, for forgiving you?

Hannibal caressed Will's damaged cheek with the backs of his fingers, sweeping them over the Dragon’s mark and tracing Will’s slightly parted lips with his thumb. Will moved back a pace and gazed up at him, wide-eyed. Slightly tipsy and reeling with apprehensive lust. The crackle of the electric air and the sweep of Hannibal’s hands on him had set his whole body quivering.

When Will’s eyes slipped closed and he lifted his chin of his own accord, Hannibal leaned in as he’d wanted to do when they were standing on the cliff’s edge, drenched in blood and victorious. Carefully, he brushed his mouth over Will’s, savoring the soft curve of his lips, the small sharp indrawn breath. ( _oh will_ )

He pulled back to gauge Will’s reaction and Will made a small noise of protest and swayed towards him again. Brow furrowed, eyes still closed. Hannibal’s eyes followed the quick flicker of Will’s tongue as he wet his lips invitingly. He took Will’s face in his hands and licked gently into his yielding mouth.

Will groaned as the wet press of Hannibal’s kiss sent a shocking surge of lust sparking through him. He wrapped his arms around Hannibal’s neck and pressed their bodies together. He could feel the hard curve of Hannibal’s erection suddenly against his belly.

“Oh,” he whimpered in soft surprise, blushing as the blood rushed to his own cock, pulling it up hard and tight all at once.

Hannibal moaned in the back of his throat, feeling Will stiffening against his hip. He slid his hands into Will’s hair to hold him still as he kissed him harder, claiming his mouth. Will matched Hannibal’s demanding kiss, rising slightly on his toes, opening his mouth to meet the hot slide of Hannibal’s tongue with his own. Losing himself gratefully in the flood of sensation.

Will finally broke the kiss, panting and shaking and overwhelmed with the immediacy of his need. Hannibal stroked Will’s hair as he pressed softer, sweeter kisses to his flushed, swollen lips, as though reassuring him that he might have whatever he needed.

“Downstairs?” Hannibal whispered breathlessly against Will’s mouth. 

Will nodded faintly and led Hannibal below.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of the smut, (some of the angst), none of the plot!

“Your room is bigger,” Will said, walking unevenly towards the master cabin.

 _Our_ room, Hannibal started to say, but let it go. It could wait. Everything else could wait. “Yes,” he said instead. “Perfect.”

With the door closed behind them, the cabin was almost completely dark. Clouds scudding across the sky had started to block the radiance of the rising moon where it slanted through the port windows. They left the lights off, the better to see each other.

For a moment, they simply stood facing one another in the middle of the room, several feet apart and silent. Their thoughts opaque. There was only the rasp of their quickening breath, the thrum of racing hearts.

Hannibal cocked his hip and opened his arms invitingly. “Come back to me,” he whispered. Slight anxiety marked his face, as though Will might refuse.

Will stepped into the spread of Hannibal’s arms again and again Hannibal pulled him in close with a satisfied sigh, cradling the back of his head. He felt as though he might never get enough of this. Just this. Just the feeling of Will in his arms, whole and alive.  

Will shifted restlessly in Hannibal’s embrace, no longer content just to be held. It’s been so long, he thought anxiously. He laced his hands behind Hannibal’s neck and rubbed his nose under his smooth jaw, inhaling the citrusy spice of his aftershave. He pressed his lips to Hannibal’s jugular and touched his tongue to the pulse of his life. Closed his teeth gently in Hannibal’s neck. Wound his fingers into Hannibal’s long hair and tugged.

Hannibal gasped at the feeling of Will’s wet mouth on the sensitive skin of his throat, the sharp points of his teeth. “Oh, Will,” he sighed helplessly.

“I…I want...,” Will whispered against Hannibal’s skin.

“Yes,” Hannibal encouraged immediately. “Anything you want. Tell me.”

Will stepped back out of Hannibal’s arms and glanced haltingly over the outline of his body in the faint dark, overcome by an ungovernable feeling of endless bottomless hunger. A hunger he feared might never be satisfied once acknowledged, no matter what the effort. ( _anything i want_ )

Hannibal looked at Will longingly as Will appraised him. How I wanted you, he thought, shaking his head and licking his lips. How I _want_ you, beautiful Will. He held his arms out again, offering anything and everything. A limitless invitation. Waiting to see what Will would do. It seemed he was always waiting to see what Will would do.

Will put his shaky hands on either side of Hannibal’s open shirt and yanked it off his shoulders. Hannibal’s eyes widened and he shifted back on his heels with the unexpected force of it. He felt the rush of Will’s hot breath over his neck again and then Will’s hands, sun-warm and sail-rough, ghosting along his collarbones, his shoulders, the curved muscles of his chest.

Will slid his fingertips through the thick hair on Hannibal’s chest and down over his tensed belly. “You’re beautiful, Hannibal,” he said softly, answering the anxious question caught in every line of Hannibal's body.

Hannibal swayed into Will’s touch, his eyes fluttering shut briefly, utterly undone by the casual comment.

Will dropped his hands to the top of Hannibal’s trousers. Undid the button and lowered the zipper. The click of metal teeth parting was exceptionally loud.

“Step out,” Will ordered softly.

Hannibal did as Will said, regarding him warily out of the corner of his eye. Then he held his arms slightly outstretched again. Will’s to direct.

Will paused for a second ( _anything that i want_ ) then grasped the waistband of Hannibal’s shorts and pulled them down as well, sinking to his knees as he did.

“Step out,” Will whispered again.

And again Hannibal did as he directed.

Will straightened up shakily and tossed Hannibal’s carefully chosen clothes aside without a second glance. He stood back, looking Hannibal over as well he could in the clouded moonlight.

Hannibal’s breathing went rough and harsh. He fought not to wrap his arms around himself. He felt unexpectedly and unbearably defenseless. Standing naked and aroused in the near dark with Will still dressed and staring at him like that. ( _capricious creature_ ) Almost unconsciously, he dropped his hands to cross them over his obvious erection.

“Don’t,” Will warned firmly. “I want to see you.”

Hannibal licked his dry lips and stretched his arms out again. Will gave him a sharpish look and stepped a little closer. Close enough that Hannibal could feel the rough fabric of Will’s clothes whicker against his bare skin. Will grinned, the Dragon’s scar pulling cruelly across his cheek, and he pressed his clothed body briefly and deliberately against Hannibal’s nude one, intentionally letting the coarse canvas of his cargo shorts scrape over Hannibal’s sensitive, swollen cock. Hannibal grimaced at the brief burn. It was too much and not enough. Not nearly enough.

With the tips of his trembling fingers, Will traced Hannibal’s scars as he’d wanted to for weeks. He mapped the short deep line over the bridge of Hannibal’s nose. The crooked gash over his cheekbone and the matching half-moon under his jaw. The long faint lines on his forearms. The deceptively small depression in his back where the Dragon’s bullet had entered his body and the splayed starfish on his side where it had exploded outwards in a spray of glass and blood. A lifetime of scars collected in a brief catastrophic handful of years.

Hannibal shifted his weight, spreading his arms and tilting his chin to give Will greater access. The brief slide of Will’s questing fingers prickled his skin and raised the hair on the back of his neck. He panted with the effort of holding still so that Will could touch him in this unbearably chaste fashion. ( _anything that you want_ ) Fighting the urge to seize him and pull him back against his body. To kiss him breathless and strip his clothes off and shove him back against the bed. To turn him face down against the velvet coverlet and take him.

Will’s breathing sped up as he watched the force of Hannibal’s thoughts manifest in the slight, erotic twist of his muscles. He brought Hannibal’s clenched hand to his mouth, uncurled his fingers, and kissed his fingertips. Hannibal curved his hand around Will’s cheek and rubbed his fingers through the neat beard. He chuckled under his breath.

“What?” Will whispered.

“It seems unfair,” Hannibal sighed, cradling Will’s cheek in his palm again. “That your beard should still be soft even in this harsh climate.”

Will smiled. “Do you like it? Or should I shave mine off too?”

“You should do just as you please, Will. You’re beautiful either way.” ( _every way_ )

Will snorted, shaking his head. Hannibal stroked his cheek affectionately and shrugged, keeping his insistence to himself. It wasn’t really necessary. In place of praise, he would offer Will the wordless worship of his mouth, his hands, his body.

Hannibal tilted his head and held Will’s gaze. Slowly and deliberately he unbuttoned the top button on Will’s shirt. Then the next and the next and the next until it was hanging open. Where Will had been rough and demanding and curious, Hannibal was gentle and reverent, sliding Will’s shirt slowly off his shoulders and setting it aside.

With shaking hands, he caressed Will’s body greedily, stroking his broad shoulders, the deep cut of his biceps, the slats of his ribs, the smooth curve of his lean belly. He smiled slightly as he slid his fingers into the waistband of Will’s shorts, drawing his fingertips teasingly along the soft skin of his stomach from the jut of one hipbone to the other. He could feel the soft trail of hair on his belly, the crinkle of dense curling pubic hair just below that.

Will shivered and threw his head back, letting Hannibal touch him as he pleased. Feeling open and seen and safely vulnerable. And somehow relieved. He had missed this. God he had missed it.

Hannibal looked him over with unconcealed desire. For a moment, it seemed as though he would say something. When he didn’t, Will brushed his long hair back from his face and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“I seem to be in need of a haircut,” Hannibal whispered then, bending to press his mouth to Will’s neck, to curl his tongue around Will’s ear.

Will shuddered and wrapped Hannibal’s hair around his fist, tugging on it. “I don’t know. I kind of like it.”

He slid his bare calf along Hannibal’s and leaned into the solid heat of his body. He could feel Hannibal’s stiff length pressing against his own through the fabric of his shorts. “It might, oh, might be a good disguise.”

“Yes, it might,” Hannibal said, thinking fondly of a sweet and deadly future. He moved to kiss Will again, nipping at his bottom lip with his sharp teeth. Then he walked Will backwards with a little grin that Will could sense, but couldn’t see, until his knees hit the bed and he sat down heavily.

Hannibal leaned over him until he gave in and lay back. He drew his hands firmly down Will’s bare chest to the top of his cargo shorts. He unzipped them and pulled the shorts and boxers off in one handful, laying them on the warm wood floor.

Will slid back along the plush velvet cover as Hannibal crawled up the bed over him. Hannibal leaned down and stretched his big body out over Will’s, deliberately pressing him into the bed. They arched and sighed together at the overwhelming sensation of endless sun-kissed skin on skin.

Hannibal slid his leg between Will’s thighs and settled comfortably against him, Will’s hard cock cradled in the valley between his thigh and hip. Will could feel the thick hair on Hannibal’s chest and belly crinkling softly against his bare skin as he took Hannibal's weight.

In the moonwashed dark, Will tilted his head to offer Hannibal his liquid mouth again. Hannibal sighed and pressed his lips to Will’s. Gently, so gently at first. Will tilted his chin back further and opened to him. Hannibal licked delicately over his full lower lip and into his mouth. Will pressed his hips up against Hannibal, shaking and whimpering. Drowning in the flood of physical contact that he’d denied himself for far too long.

Hannibal moved his mouth to Will’s throat and then kissed him behind his ear. He put his nose in the crook of Will’s neck, inhaling deeply.

“I wish you hadn’t showered today,” he sighed. “I can hardly smell you over that sandalwood soap of yours.”

Will writhed under the press of Hannibal’s body as Hannibal breathed him in. “ _You_ bought that sandalwood soap.” 

Hannibal grinned against Will’s neck. “That’s true. I should have bought Kirk’s Castille instead- pure and unscented. Then I would always be able to smell you just as you are.”

Will sighed and shifted with pleasure as Hannibal sucked a small bruise into his throat over his pulse. “What do I smell like?”

( _home_ ) “Oh, it’s hard to describe,” Hannibal said, kissing his neck again. “A gestalt of your environment and some unnamable spice that is unique to you. These days? Crystalline sea salt and dusty hemp rope. Engine oil and smoke.” He chuckled lightly. “And fish. Lots of fish these days.”

Hannibal brushed his mouth over Will’s pulse again, taking the measure of his pounding heart with the tip of his tongue. “Copper and heat, just here,” he sighed. “Where your body holds the rivers of your life.”

Hannibal ducked his head then and nuzzled into Will’s armpit until Will laughed and squirmed away. Hannibal chuckled along with him, but pinned Will’s arms up above his head anyway so he could scent and taste to his heart’s content. Kissing Will’s neck and nosing delicately up behind his ear. Licking at the line of saltsweat running down the center of his chest. Pressing his nose into the hollow of Will’s armpits again.

Will twisted under Hannibal’s ticklish exploration and pulled against his implacable grip, tossing his head. Gasping and twisting when he could not get free. Hannibal could smell the responsive flare of his arousal and he tightened his grasp on Will’s wrists to see what he would do. He was certain he was bruising Will’s flesh and he could feel the small bones in his wrists grinding together, but still Will arched up, moaning and pressing his thighs on either side of Hannibal’s hips.

Hannibal looked at Will intently then moved to sit astride him, securing his thrashing body with his strong thighs, hands still around his wrists. He leaned forward and closed his sharp teeth gently over Will’s throat, a promise of greater violence should Will require it, should he ask for it.

Will pulled against Hannibal’s grip again, just to feel it tighten. Hannibal squeezed Will’s wrists once more, obligingly, then let go and dipped his head lower to lap at his nipples. When they were stiff and Will was trembling with anticipation, Hannibal bit down hard. Will swooned into the pain, as Hannibal had known he would. Over and over Hannibal marked Will’s body with his teeth. Glorying in the yielding resilience of his flesh. Licking over the faint red bite marks afterwards to soothe them. Will clutched at Hannibal’s shoulders, whimpering helplessly, floating on a sea of endorphins. The tension of the past weeks entirely subsumed in physical pleasure.

Hannibal kissed his way down over Will’s belly. He paused to brush his mouth over the hooked heartbroken scar there, unable to resist it. He left off regretfully, before he could draw Will’s attention to it and spoil his mood. Then he gently pressed Will’s quaking thighs apart and settled on his knees between them.

He took Will’s thick throbbing cock in his hand and stroked it appreciatively, stripping the foreskin back, before bending to close his mouth around it. He sucked deep and hard, taking all of it all at once. Will blinked rapidly in surprise, eyes welling up, thinking _too much, too much_ in the brief second he had to think before the utter bliss of it crushed him.

He jerked forward involuntarily then collapsed back against the velvet coverlet, sobbing behind gritted teeth, straining to stay considerately still as Hannibal licked and sucked him mercilessly. His mind overwhelmed, whited out by delight.

Hannibal slid his hands along Will’s thighs and down over his ass, feeling the muscles tense and quake as Will tried desperately not to thrust up. I will ruin this boy with pleasure, Hannibal thought haughtily as he tilted his head to take Will’s cock into his throat. Will gasped as Hannibal swallowed around his hard length and massaged it with his clever tongue. He shook with the effort of holding still, covering his mouth with his hands to stifle his frantic moaning.

Hannibal smiled proudly to himself and swallowed around Will’s cock again and again. Worshiping him. Pouring his heart out through his mouth. He cupped his hands under the rounded curves of Will’s ass and lifted slightly, encouraging Will to take what he wanted, to take more, to take everything Hannibal could give him. He nodded reassuringly as Will cautiously tilted his hips up, pressing his cock deeper into the tight wet heat of Hannibal’s dangerous mouth.

“Oh,” Will moaned, throwing his head back. “Oh oh oh.” He licked his lips and swallowed convulsively. He reached down hesitantly and took a handful of Hannibal’s hair, letting the silky strands slide through his fingers before closing them hard and tugging slightly.

Hannibal hummed in enjoyment around Will’s thick flesh as Will pulled his hair. He curved his hands around Will’s cheeks and spread them, pressing his fingers between them, searching for the delicate, sensitive opening. Will felt Hannibal’s fingertips brush lightly over his hole and he thrust up involuntarily into Hannibal’s throat. Hannibal choked and dug his fingers reflexively into Will's flesh.

“S-sorry,” Will stuttered. He let go of Hannibal’s hair and tried to pull back, feeling intensely guilty about the sadistic little flash of pleasure he'd felt at that sound. “Sorry. I didn’t mean….”

Hannibal shook his head in exasperation and moved slightly to get a better angle. Then he grasped Will’s hips and pinned him firmly to the bed. Will’s head tipped back and he writhed helplessly, hands fisted in the blankets, as Hannibal bent forward and took him deep, the tip of his nose pressing briefly into Will’s pubic hair.

“Please,” Will begged. “Please, please.”

It’s all right, Hannibal thought, sucking hard and cupping Will’s balls gently in his hand. You can let go, my love; I have you. Come for me, _caro_. Come on. Come for me.

Suddenly, as if he had heard Hannibal’s wordless entreaty, Will buried his hands in Hannibal’s hair and arched up, coming urgently down his throat. He squealed as Hannibal swallowed around his quivering cock, drinking him in.

Hannibal gathered the last pulses of Will’s copious come on his tongue and leaned up to kiss him, pushing his tongue into his mouth. Will groaned and suckled senselessly at the thick fluid Hannibal offered him. He wrapped his arms around Hannibal’s neck as his own bitter salt filled his mouth.

When Hannibal was satisfied, he stretched out beside Will’s quaking body and stroked one fingertip possessively over him from collarbone to hip. ( _mine_ ) Will shuddered and tried to pull away. He was oversensitive now, the slightest touch nearly excruciating. But Hannibal would not allow it.

“Stay,” he ordered mildly, wrapping his hand around Will’s softening, spasming cock.

Will shook his head and covered his eyes with his hands. “Can’t,” he moaned. A quavering shiver shook his whole body as Hannibal squeezed him once, hard, then eased off again. “Can’t.”

“You can,” Hannibal assured him. “Men are capable of multiple orgasms, with persistence. A little training.”

Will gasped at that, but shook his head again, closing his legs and twisting away from Hannibal’s hand.

“Yes,” Hannibal insisted. “The trick is to work through the aftershocks. A few moments of too much will quickly become not enough and you will fill and harden again. Will you try for me?”

“What…what about you?” Will asked in a shaky voice. “Why don’t you let me touch you… taste you? Then maybe after that…”

Hannibal shook his head. “Don’t worry about me, Will. You aren’t the only one who can hold out until your partner is…”

“…ruined?” Will interrupted with a knowing little smile, thinking about edging Hannibal in Venice until he was sobbing and begging.

“Just so,” Hannibal whispered, imagining the same moment.

He leaned in to brush his mouth gently over Will’s and Will opened for him automatically. Hannibal groaned and slid his tongue into Will’s mouth. Will stroked his trembling fingers through Hannibal’s hair and melted into his kiss.

Hannibal pulled back and sat up beside Will, cradling his softening cock in one hand, as if keeping it warm. He placed his other hand on Will’s chest, pressing down firmly, grounding him.

“It has been so long, Will,” Hannibal sighed, nearly overwhelmed by everything he wanted to do to him, to give to him, to take from him. Now that Will was really here with him. A thousand thousand delights to make up for years of deprivation and grief.

“We’ve barely even begun, _caro_ ,” Hannibal whispered. “It is still night. Maybe, when the stars have burned out, we can talk about enough.”

Will opened his eyes and looked up at him then, his face open and vulnerable. In the faint moonlight, he could see Hannibal’s crushing desire for him. He opened his mind and let it flood into him, filling him, echoing off his own greed and desire for more. Then he nodded and Hannibal smiled at him fondly. I will ruin you with pleasure, he thought again.

“Spread your legs and try to relax,” Hannibal instructed as he squeezed Will’s cock gently then eased off. “Let the pressure build again by itself.”

Will took a halting breath and shook his head unconsciously, one leg curving involuntarily over the other to protect himself from the overdose of bliss. Hannibal grinned sharply and pressed Will’s strong thigh back against the bed with his free hand, relishing his body’s trembling, involuntary resistance.

Sadist, Will thought darkly as Hannibal’s hand squeezed and released his delicate flesh. Squeezed and released. Squeezed and released. Coaxing the diffuse, overwhelming pleasure suffusing Will’s body into something deeper, more concentrated.

Will groaned as his cock started to fill and thicken again. It was almost painful. Hannibal alternated between squeezing and releasing and pulling Will’s stiffening length though his fist. Every time he did this, Will would arch up helplessly, moaning and tossing his head as though in agony.

“Good,” Hannibal praised him. “That’s so good. I know it feels like too much. But you only need to ride it out for me a moment longer.”

Will set his heels into the bed and lifted his hips, gritting his teeth as Hannibal forced him to aching hardness again. He threw one arm across his eyes and reached out blindly with the other. Hannibal caught his hand and held it reassuringly.

"I'm here, _caro_. Still here."

He brought Will's hand reverently to his lips then pressed it to his cheek. He watched avidly as Will’s cock lifted and filled for him, blood pulsing through it, shimmering pre-come sliding down the shaft and over his hand.

Before Hannibal could dip down to take Will’s cock into his mouth again as he had intended, Will knelt up panting, shoved Hannibal back firmly against the pillows, and straddled his lap. 

Hannibal smiled up at him, surprised, and spread his arms. Hands open, palms up in acquiescence. ( _what are you up to, beautiful boy?_ )

Will palmed his twitching, aching cock, pressing it against his belly for a moment, as if to still its impatient yearning then leaned forward to kiss Hannibal’s mouth, the hollow at the base of his throat, his sternum. He rubbed his cheek over the curling hair on Hannibal’s chest. Licked over Hannibal’s nipples, dragging his teeth over them until Hannibal arched up sighing. Then he sank down to brush his mouth over the proud curve of Hannibal’s cock.

“Pay back,” he whispered.

In the near dark, every sense was magnified. There was the smell of soap, and spice, and musk caught in the cradle of Hannibal’s hips. The oddly perfect feeling of Hannibal’s cock, hard and hot and heavy against his tongue as he opened his mouth around it. The bitter salt taste of the fluid at the tip. It seemed strange to him that he would want something like this as much as he did.

Will exhaled hot over Hannibal’s flesh, using his own preferences and what he already knew of Hannibal to guide him. He slid the foreskin back and pressed his tongue to the sensitive spot just beneath the head. He licked broadly over the coronal ridge and traced the tip of his tongue along the small weeping slit. He rubbed his thumb up and down the thick cord of tissue running along the underside. He held Hannibal’s bucking hips steady in his calloused hands and slid as much of his swollen pulsing cock into his mouth as he could manage. Licking and sucking. Lavishing him with care and attention. Hannibal is who he will pour his gentleness into now.

Hannibal’s strong hands combed softly through his curls. He stroked Will’s face. Traced his thumb along the line of Will’s mouth where it was stretched around his thick flesh. “So lovely,” Hannibal whispered with a deep helpless need. “Oh, you’re so lovely like this.”

Will hummed and shook his head slightly. Hannibal smiled, amused that Will would protest his compliments even now. Then he threw his head back against the pillow, moaning and speechless as Will looked up at him from under his long eyelashes and fluttered his tongue deliberately over the head of his stiff cock.

Will dug his fingers into the long muscles of Hannibal’s thighs with a brief sudden cramp of sorrow, realizing that he had used one of Molly’s little moves that he had always loved. He forced himself to relax and focus on where he was and when. To focus on the smell of Hannibal’s aftershave, the soft nap of the velvet under his knees, the uncommon pleasure of having his mouth stuffed full.

Hannibal let the feverish pleasure overwhelm him for a moment, allowing his mind to go blank with it. Then he closed his hand in Will’s hair and tugged gently. “Up,” he said reluctantly. “Come on. Come up.”

Will pulled back, surprised. Blue eyes blown nearly black. A thin silvery line of saliva stretched from his full lower lip to the tip of Hannibal’s quivering cock. “It’s not good?” he whispered, wiping his mouth. “Or you… do you want something else? I can… You can tell me what you want…”

“It’s good, _caro_ ,” Hannibal reassured, swiping his thumb over Will’s wet lips. “You’re so good with your mouth.”

Will gave him a skeptical, defensive look. ( _i know i’m good with my mouth_ ) “Then why?”

Hannibal sat up against the pillows with a little smile. “Because you were trying to make me come. And it was working. But I don’t want to come yet, _caro_. Not yet.” He wrapped his arms around Will and tried to put him down on his back again.

Will grinned and shook his head, putting his hands on Hannibal’s chest and shoving him firmly flat against the bed. “You had your turn to torture me. Now be still.”

He slid his hands along Hannibal’s legs, spreading them and bracing them open with his own. He licked his fingers and reached down under Hannibal’s balls, circling his opening, pressing softly against the tense muscle. Hannibal sighed and spread wider for him. ( _yes_ )

“Ok?”

“Yes.” ( _yes. anything you like. everything._ )

Hannibal twisted his body to reach into the built-in nightstand. The grate of the wooden drawer and the clink of glass on wood was enormously loud in the darkness.

“Here,” he offered, handing Will a small bottle of clear, viscous liquid.

“Presumptuous,” Will teased.

“No, it’s… I use it. For myself,” Hannibal corrected, almost hesitantly. He felt entirely off balance with the caring force of Will’s gentle control. This was not going entirely as he’d imagined it.

Will found Hannibal’s mouth in the dark and kissed him. “You’ll show me some time,” he whispered. “I’d like to see that. To see what you like best. How you touch yourself when you’re alone.” Will pressed his lips against Hannibal’s throat to feel the run of his blood. “Do you think of me when you do it?”

“Too often,” Hannibal admitted wryly.

“Do you imagine being…being inside me?”

“Yes.”

“Do you ever… put your fingers inside yourself and think about my cock?”

“Yes.”

“I want that. I want to be inside you.” He hesitated, suddenly unsure. “Is that…is that ok? Is this still ok?”

“Oh, Will. Yes.”

Will nodded, then silently encouraged Hannibal to roll onto his uninjured side. In the grey dark, he groped for one of the pillows and set it against Hannibal’s knees. Will kissed his neck softly and leaned against the back of his hip making him bend his top leg so that it would fall forward onto the pillow. He slid his hand firmly along the curve of Hannibal’s ass and down the back of his thigh, pulling his leg a little higher until Hannibal’s body was positioned the way he wanted it, his sensitive opening easily accessible.

Hannibal’s breathing stuttered. He felt hopelessly exposed suddenly. Vulnerable and unbelievably unsure. Will sensed it. Hannibal who was afraid of nothing was afraid of him.

He brushed his mouth over Hannibal’s shoulder blade and stroked his back tenderly, protectively, making small, soothing sounds as he did. “I want to…to take care of you. I want you to let me… care for you this way.”

Hannibal nodded and relaxed, letting his legs fall further open, tilting his hips slightly back in invitation. “Anything you like, Will,” Hannibal sighed. “Everything.”

Will coated his fingers with the slick Hannibal had given him then stretched out behind him. He dropped his hand between their bodies and pressed his fingers to Hannibal’s opening.

Hannibal felt Will stroking his hole lightly. Pushing gently against the muscle’s automatic resistance. Then he felt the slow familiar insinuation. One slippery finger inside. Two. He hissed, stirring fretfully. Pain mixed with sparking pleasure. It had been so long since anyone had been inside him like this.

Will withdrew and poured more of the silky lubricant over his hand. He kissed the back of Hannibal’s neck, hot and open-mouthed, then slid two fingers back inside him, all at once. Hannibal groaned at the burning stretch and canted his hips back to ease the insistent penetration. Will slid his fingers over one another inside Hannibal and twisted them to press down gently against the sensitive surface of his prostate. Hannibal moaned and shifted restlessly.

“Good?” Will whispered.

“Yes,” Hannibal sighed, his voice rough and wavering. “So good.”

“Good,” Will said and kissed him again.

He rested his head against Hannibal’s back. Pressed his fingers deep and gently spread them. Opening Hannibal slowly. Stroking over his prostate and making small comforting noises in the back of his throat. He coaxed Hannibal carefully, with delicate concern. He wanted so much to make Hannibal feel soft and held and safe after everything that had happened. After everything they’d done to each other. Anxious for him to want this more than anything. To want and want and want the tender things that Will could give him.

When Hannibal’s opening was dripping with lubricant, when he was arching back helplessly and asking for more, Will pulled his fingers out gently and slicked his cock. He reached over Hannibal to hand him the little bottle then stretched out again and pressed the length of his body along Hannibal’s back. He slid one arm under Hannibal’s head and wrapped the other around his broad chest, pulling tight.

“Rest back against me,” Will whispered encouragingly, licking at Hannibal’s earlobe.

Hannibal leaned back as Will had asked him and went still, absorbing the hard line of Will’s body behind him. The relentless work of sailing had melted what little softness there had been from Will’s already lean frame. He was all staccato curves and angles now.

  
Will reached down to hold the swollen head of his cock firmly against the slicked rim of Hannibal’s oversensitive opening. He kissed Hannibal’s neck then behind his ear, to make him shiver again. Distracting him with pleasure. Waiting for the quaking muscle to relax again. Waiting for Hannibal’s body to signal _please_ and _more_ and _now_.

Will pressed his thumb to Hannibal’s suprasternal notch, fingers sliding along his collarbone and up around his throat.“Touch yourself,” he said. “The way you like it." His hips flexed forward unintentionally, pressing hard against Hannibal’s entrance for a moment and he moaned against Hannibal’s neck. "Oh. Just the way you like it.”

Hannibal dripped some of the lubricant over his cock then wrapped his hand around it and stroked himself firmly as Will had directed. He tipped his head back and sighed as the deep pleasure flooded his body.

When the trembling tightness of Hannibal’s opening gave way to the rhythmic flicker and flex of need, Will pushed the head of his cock firmly inside. Hannibal groaned, heart pounding, breath short. Will was thick and the stretching burning pressure was back. He tilted his head back to rest on Will’s shoulder and stroked his cock harder, willing himself to relax around the welcome intrusion.

“Good?” Will asked softly, feeling the unbearable clench and release, clench and release of Hannibal’s body, hot and tight around him.

“Yes, Will.” “Please,” he pleaded. “Please.”

Will swiveled his hips and pressed gently deeper, eyes closed, mind open, listening for what Hannibal wanted, needed. He moaned against Hannibal’s neck again, kissing slick and hot. Hannibal stroked himself as Will rocked into him with the rhythm of the waves, slow and steady and unbearably sweet.

"I thought about this,” Will groaned softly, pulling out a little and pressing back inside all the way. He shuddered as Hannibal squeezed deliberately around his cock. ( _fuck you’re so tight_ )

“As much as I pushed it away,” Will sighed, “and for all that I was happy in my life with goodness all around me…” Will’s face crumpled in momentary grief. Why was he saying this?  “And I was _so happy_ , Hannibal,” he whispered, almost too low to hear at all.

“Still,” he continued in a relentless rush. “Still. When it was quiet. When I couldn’t sleep. When I lay awake in the dark of the cabin with the snow falling, I thought about you. I imagined… what it would be like to see you again. Whether I could bear to see you again. And like that. Entombed in glass. I traced the lines of your script on the letter you sent me before I burned it and thought about your hands, touching the paper, touching my skin."

Will brushed his mouth against Hannibal’s ear. “Did you think of me? Of us together? Like this?”

Hannibal smiled tightly in the dark.“Often. Beautiful Will. I have a whole wing dedicated to our brief time in Italy.” He sighed and stroked himself harder, trying to chase away the memories of confinement that Will had stirred up. ( _what a cruel boy you are_ ) 

“I didn’t, oh, I didn’t touch myself though. There was no privacy for that sort of thing you know. But I could visit those installations. Feel again how I felt then. Sometimes I came untouched in the dark of that glass cell imagining your cock inside me. Your mouth around me. Your hands all over me.”

Will shuddered and tightened his hand briefly where it rested at the base of Hannibal’s throat. Three years, he thought miserably. Oh god, three years. Three years of nothing but clinical examinations and impersonal restraints.

Hannibal sighed and shifted to curve his leg back behind Will’s hip, opening himself even further. Letting Will press in even deeper. Signaling _please_ and _more_ and _now_. Asking Will to ground him in the present again. Trusting that he would.

He moaned as Will’s cock stretched him at this new angle. “More, Will, he begged. “Harder. I want to feel it. Today and tomorrow and the next day. When I move, I want to feel you inside me.”

Will groaned and dropped his head against Hannibal’s scarred back. He snapped his hips forward to bury himself deep. He slid his hand down Hannibal’s chest and curved his arm under Hannibal’s thigh, holding it back and open.

“Oh yes,” Hannibal moaned, nodding. “Yes. Like that. Hard. Harder.”

Will breathed Hannibal’s name as he thrust into him relentlessly. He held Hannibal’s thigh tight, tight enough to bruise, and sobbed against his shoulder. Eyes welling with tears as pleasure and fear overwhelmed him. I love you, he thought hopelessly, teeth clamped tight against the truth. I love you. ( _i have loved you_ )

The inexorable peak came on like a hurricane flame being slowly turned up and up and up until it is finally fueled too bright to look at and bursts the glass around it. Hannibal’s eyes flew open and then fluttered shut in satisfaction as he felt the liquid rush of Will coming inside him.

Will’s body stuttered and jerked. For a moment he rested, panting against Hannibal’s back. Then slowly he started to swivel his hips again, pressing the head of his still-hard, excruciatingly sensitive cock against Hannibal’s prostate over and over.

Hannibal worked himself mindlessly back on Will’s prick and stroked his own cock harder. He moaned as Will thrust into him. He had wanted this for so long, he felt almost incapable of letting go and letting it end.

“You must be so sensitive right now,” Hannibal breathed, clenching around him involuntarily.

Will smiled, gritting his teeth, panting and squirming.  “Yes. It’s almost too much. On the edge of too much. Hurts a little.”

“You should stop then,” Hannibal said, toes curling, back arched. ( _so close so close so close)_

“No, it’s good,” Will breathed. “I’m ok. I want you to come. I want to make you come. Unless…do you want me to stop?”

“No,” Hannibal moaned. “Please. Stay in me.”

“Yes,” Will said, biting into Hannibal’s neck. "Yes, I will."

He pressed deep, down and in, holding his cock against the sweet spot and rocking his hips in a tight little circle. He slid his hand up Hannibal’s thigh to his chest and then closed it around his throat. Tighter, tighter. Cutting off his air to interrupt his automatic, but clearly unwanted, control.

Hannibal came in a blinding unbearable spasm then, sobbing and lurching forward and curling helplessly around the pillow between his thighs. Will stayed with him, holding him, pressed close and comforting against his back.

When his quaking eased, Will kissed his shoulder and pulled out of him slowly and gently. He shuddered as Hannibal’s body flexed around his softening hypersensitive cock. He stroked Hannibal’s shivering back then pressed his fingers tenderly between his cheeks. He circled the swollen opening, soothing the involuntary flicker and spasm of the muscle, making sure he hadn’t hurt him.

“I’m all right, Will,” Hannibal murmured. “It was good, _caro_. So good.” ( _you’re so good to me_ )

Will wrapped his arm across Hannibal’s chest again and they lay together for a time. Limbs entwined, breath slowing, until the sweat cooled and became sticky. Hannibal sat up and kissed Will’s forehead, his cheeks, his soft smiling mouth, then swung his legs over the side of the bed.

“Don’t go.” Will slurred, reaching for him. “It’s so comfortable.”

“We have to get cleaned up.” Hannibal insisted affectionately.

“We don’t technically _have_ to get cleaned up,” Will retorted sleepily. “Ok. Ok," he groaned, sitting up. "You can go first.”

Hannibal used the ensuite, but when he came out to offer Will his turn, he was gone. He could hear the shower running in the bathroom next to Will’s cabin on the other side of the ship. Hannibal dried off then stripped the stained velvet coverlet from the bed. He sighed and set it aside. They were weeks away from a dry cleaner; it was probably ruined.

He turned the sheets and the blankets down and redistributed the pillows. Of course Will would come back to sleep, he thought. Wouldn’t he? He got into bed and pulled the covers up over his chest. He lay on his back and listened to the water running, to the waves, to the creak of the rigging overhead. Waiting in the dark to see what Will would do.

Downcast, he let himself doze off, almost certain that Will was not coming back. Just before he let sleep take him, he heard the sound of bare feet padding across the sitting room floor. Will’s silhouette filled the arched doorway and then disappeared as he closed the door behind him and crossed the room.

“Hey,” Will said shyly, sliding quickly under the blankets on the vacant side of the bed.

Hannibal turned on his side and smiled drowsily. “Hello, Will.”

Will leaned over and kissed the corner of his mouth. Hannibal could smell the sting of mint toothpaste and the sweet sandalwood soap again. Will turned his back to Hannibal and Hannibal curved up behind him, fitting his knees behind Will’s, brushing his damp curls back. Hannibal wrapped his arm around Will’s chest and kissed him behind the ear. Will shivered and clutched Hannibal’s hand.

“Sleep now, _mylimasis_.”

“ _M_ _ylimasis_ ,” Will murmured, already fading. “What does it mean?”

Hannibal pulled Will closer and pressed his forehead to his back. “It means beloved,” he whispered inaudibly.


	28. Chapter 28

Hannibal’s body was curved protectively around Will’s in his sleep, one arm wrapped over his chest. Breathing in time with him. Hannibal drifted deep and contented, dreaming. He dreamed more now than he used to. When the ship swayed abruptly on the back of a violent wave, he stirred and shifted, rubbing his stubbled cheek unconsciously against Will’s warm back. The flex of his body in sleep provoked a feeling of insistent aching pressure deep inside- the pleasant echoing aftereffects of Will taking him. Hannibal’s busy dreaming mind seized on this phantom sensation, worrying it and worrying it until he was twitching restlessly in the big bed, his eyes tracking randomly behind his eyelids.

**1979.**  Rain again. Warm and grey and shrouding Paris in mist. Falling on the three long windows set into the roofline of Étienne’s attic bedroom. The long open space was intentionally shabby and under-furnished, a self-conscious rebellion against his parents’ lavish townhome below. The wide plank wood floors were scuffed and worn, topped with threadbare antique rugs and floor cushions. There was a half cracked chevalier mirror next to a polished wooden music stand- the only thing in the room that looked new. Just under the windows was a queen-sized, faux gothic, iron bed that Étienne had dragged in off the street over his mother’s weary protests. (A bed frame from the garbage? _Dégueulasse_ , Étienne,” she’d chided him.)

It was Friday afternoon. Hannibal and Étienne should have been sitting at the piano in the first floor salon for Hannibal’s music lesson, but they were not. Instead, Hannibal was stretched out on Étienne’s bed with Étienne kneeling between his spread thighs, sucking him off. Hannibal’s hands were fisted in the pillow behind his head, teeth clenched, heels digging into the mattress as he thrust up into Étienne’s mouth. The shadows of the rain sliding down the windows fell across his body like camouflage.

Étienne slid his hands over Hannibal’s lithe hips and down under his ass. He cupped and squeezed the resilient flesh, lifting him and pressing his legs slightly back and open. He tilted his head to take Hannibal’s cock deeper and ran his fingers between Hannibal’s cheeks, pulling them apart. He circled the tips of his fingers lazily against the tight pucker. Hannibal squirmed and tried to back out of Étienne’s grip, making a low frightened sound in his throat. Étienne took his mouth off Hannibal’s cock to kiss his belly, his inner thighs.

“Shh, shh, _cheri_ ,” he soothed, brushing his full lips back and forth over the head of Hannibal’s cock. He dipped his pointed tongue under the foreskin and pressed it against the exquisitely sensitive spot just under the flushed tip. “You’ll like this. It feels good.”

Étienne bent lower, holding Hannibal’s shivering legs open, and licked over his vulnerable opening again and again until he was wet. Then he replaced his tongue with his finger and pressed in firmly.

Hannibal gasped and lashed out, inadvertently kicking Étienne hard in the shoulder. “ _Non_! He shook his head violently. “ _Ne_!”

Étienne rolled onto the floor with a heavy thump. “ _Putain de merde_ , Hannibal?” he cried with a shocked expression.

“ _Šiukštu_!” Hannibal breathed harshly, eyes wide and rolling. He pulled his legs up and wrapped his arms around them, pressing his bare body back against the cold curves of the iron headboard. In a panic, he briefly considered slitting Étienne’s throat with a piece of glass from the cracked mirror.

Étienne rubbed his shoulder. “ _En français, petit_ ,” he said with exaggerated world-weariness. “You know I don’t understand that barbarian language.”

He sighed and pushed himself off the floor. He sat on the edge of the bed next to Hannibal, peering at him with concern. Blissfully unaware that Hannibal had seriously considered killing him just a second earlier. He reached for Hannibal, holding his hand out, palm up and gesturing with mild impatience until Hannibal warily slid a little closer.

Étienne took one of Hannibal’s long-fingered hands in his and brought it to his lips. He gave him a little smile, as if acknowledging how silly it looked. Then he turned Hannibal’s hand over and kissed the center of his palm. He held Hannibal’s narrow hand to his face, caressing the back of it reassuringly. Then he reached out and cupped Hannibal’s smooth cheek, brushing his thumb over his angular cheekbone.

“I would never hurt you, _chéri_ ,” he said, his voice low and soothing. “ _Jamais. Je ne te blesserai jamais_.” He piled his pillows against the ironwork headboard then crawled onto the bed and leaned back against them. He gestured for Hannibal to sit between his legs. “ _Viens ici._ Come here, _minou._ Come. Lean back against me.”  

Hannibal gave Étienne a wild halting look before slowly turning around and sitting back gingerly against his broad chest. Étienne stroked Hannibal’s shoulders then rubbed harder, loosening the tense muscles. He wrapped one arm across Hannibal’s chest and pulled him back snugly against the brace of his body. Hannibal wriggled restlessly against his hold, but Étienne did not let go. He was intent on gentling Hannibal again. Overwhelming him with the simple physical pleasures he so obviously hungered for. He brushed Hannibal’s shaggy, dark blond hair back from his neck with his free hand and kissed him there softly. He closed his teeth gently at the join of Hannibal’s neck and shoulder, which he’d discovered Hannibal liked.

“Why so frightened, _chéri_?” he whispered against Hannibal’s back.

Hannibal shook his head, stubbornly silent.

Étienne exhaled and kissed Hannibal’s cheek. He rubbed his stubbled jaw against Hannibal’s shoulder and covered the back of his neck with wet open kisses. Gently, delicately, he drew the tip of his tongue along the soft skin behind his ear, the flow of his breath sweeping over the wet skin, making Hannibal tremble. He slid his hand down over Hannibal’s chest and stroked his fingers over each nipple until it peaked. He closed his fingers around one of them tight, tight, pulling until Hannibal arched and pressed his thighs together against the spasm of pleasure.

“ _Bien_ ,” Étienne praised him, kissing his neck again, open-mouthed and hot. “ _Bien_ , _chéri._ ”

He continued to kiss and caress Hannibal’s body, giving him all the little things he knew he liked- rubbing his earlobe between thumb and forefinger, licking and biting it. Sucking red marks into his neck. Stroking his nipples until they were stiff and sensitive and then squeezing hard. Running a hand through his long hair. Coaxing him to tilt his head back.

Hannibal moaned and stretched languidly, letting Étienne seduce him. He dug his toes into the mattress and pressed his body back against Étienne’s chest, allowing desire to push out fear and rage. He breathed deeply so that the smell of Étienne’s sweat and soap and faint cologne would engulf him. He rocked his hips and arched his back to feel Étienne’s cock swelling against the curve of his ass.

“ _Bien_ ,” Étienne whispered happily against Hannibal’s throat. “ _Très bien_.”

Étienne slid his legs cautiously down the bed and angled his calves under Hannibal’s. He braced his feet against Hannibal’s feet then slowly and gently bent his knees and spread Hannibal’s shaking legs open with his own. Hannibal startled, pulling slightly against the force of Étienne’s strong thighs.

“Shh, shh, _chéri,”_ Étienne coaxed him again, arm still wrapped tightly over his chest. “It’s all right. Lie back against me.” He slid a hand down over Hannibal’s belly and cupped his soft cock. “ _Calme toi. Calme._ ”

Hannibal bucked and twisted as Étienne stroked him expertly back to throbbing hardness and whined wordlessly in complaint when Étienne stopped.

“Patience, _petit._ ” Étienne pressed his lips to the corner of Hannibal’s mouth as Hannibal twisted around for a proper kiss. Étienne reached into a jar on the floor beside the bed and scooped up a bit of creamy Abolone lotion. He rubbed it between his fingers until they were slick then wrapped his slippery hand firmly around Hannibal’s stiff length.

“Oh!” Hannibal moaned thrusting up into Étienne’s grip. “Oh, Étienne, oh.”

“I see you have your words again,” Étienne chuckled fondly. “ _Ce soir_ ,” he whispered in Hannibal’s ear. “You’re going to do something for me. You’ll go home after this. No more school today and no dormitory tonight. You’ll go all alone to your uncle’s grand house. Get in the bath. A long hot bath, _cheri_. Until you’re so relaxed you feel like you’re floating.”

Hannibal writhed under Étienne’s hands and the insinuating sweep of his voice. Head tipped back against Étienne’s shoulder.

“Then you’ll dry off and get warm and climb into your high bed,” Étienne ordered softly, punctuating his instructions with kisses as he stroked Hannibal’s painfully swollen cock. “Stretch out under the soft heavy covers. Get comfortable. Then touch yourself, _chéri_. Touch yourself _comme ça_ and think of me. Think of my hands, hmm?”

Étienne stopped stroking Hannibal and wrapped his arms around him tightly for a moment, relishing the feel of his thin body vibrating with anxiety and need.

“Étienne, _s’il te plait_!”

“Think of my hands _ici_.” Étienne directed, caressing and plucking at Hannibal’s stiff nipples.

“ _Ici_.” Sliding his hands over Hannibal’s belly, along his hips, and down inside his spread thighs.

“ _Ici_.” Pressing Hannibal’s legs open further as Hannibal groaned and gasped and squirmed against the stretch in the long muscles of his thighs.

“ _Ici_.” Curving his fingers around Hannibal’s cock again. “Take your time. Make it last.” “You’ll take this with you,” Étienne said, setting the open jar of Abolone cream against Hannibal’s tensed thigh. “Take some in your hands and rub your fingers together until it melts.”

Étienne skimmed his free hand along the surface of the thick lotion. He reached down and pressed the tips of his slicked fingers against Hannibal’s perineum, but no lower. Unwilling to frighten him again. And perhaps get elbowed in the face this time, Étienne thought with a rueful grin. He pressed his fingers gently but firmly against the tight cord of muscle beneath Hannibal’s balls, massaging until Hannibal’s body relaxed and his tensed thighs fell open more naturally.

Étienne mouthed Hannibal’s earlobe until he was mewling with enjoyment. “Lie back in your bed. Spread your legs. Wrap one hand around your prick and put the other down here. Use the cream to make your asshole all wet and slippery. Slide your finger just inside. Go slow. You’ll feel it’s not so scary. _Un, puis deux._ All the way in. Then curve them up. _Comme ça_. You won’t be able to get as deep inside as I could, but it will feel so good when you come, _petit_.”

Étienne licked and bit at Hannibal’s neck, feeling his cock pulsing in his hand, pearly precome sliding over the swollen head and down the shaft.

“When you touch yourself, imagine they’re my fingers inside you, _cheri_. Imagine my prick pushing inside, yes? You’ve liked everything we’ve done together so far. You take to pleasure so well, _cheri_. Every touch, you soak it up. I think you would like this too.”

Hannibal twisted at the waist, impossibly limber, and looked back over his shoulder to catch Étienne’s eye. “If it’s so good, you would let me do it to you,” he breathed slyly.

“Are you asking me to bend for you, _petit_?” Étienne laughed. “You never thought of such a thing until just now.”

“Would you?” Hannibal insisted. “Would you let me….” He groaned, eyes fluttering closed as Étienne twisted his hand slickly just under the head of his cock.

“Would I let you put this in me?” Étienne laughed, squeezing Hannibal’s thick cock a little harder. “ _Peut être_. I might. If you learn your lessons well, _petit_ , maybe I will let you show me how well you play.”

Étienne kissed Hannibal behind his ear to feel him shiver then sucked at the sensitive skin of his throat. “But first you’ll learn this for me. I want you to rub your prick, _comme ça_ , and finger yourself until you come. As many times as you can before I see you again. _Pour moi. Pour ton plaisir_.  _Pratique, s’il te plait_.” Étienne laughed. “ _Si, pratique_! _Comme le piano_. You have all weekend to practice. Then come back for your lesson next week and tell me all about it, hmm? Come back and tell me how good it felt.”

Étienne sighed, thinking about Hannibal following his instructions. “Tell me how hot you were inside, _petit_. How tight. How you wanted more. _Je te promets que tu voudras plus_. How hard you came. Over and over. Calling for me. Coming all over your belly with your fingers up inside.”

Hannibal thrashed and moaned at the thought of doing as Étienne said and of Étienne asking him to confess it later. He braced his hands on Étienne’s thighs, thrusting up helplessly into his tight fist.

Étienne reached between them with his free hand and slicked his cock with the thick slippery lotion before pulling Hannibal back tightly against him. He pressed his cock to the curve of Hannibal’s ass and rutted against him as he brought Hannibal to the edge, squeezing and stroking his cock harder, encouraging him to come. Hannibal jerked forward against Étienne’s grip and sobbed through his orgasm in a voice gone high and childish. Étienne followed him a moment later, moaning with his own release and spilling hot over Hannibal’s skin.

They lounged in Étienne’s rumpled bed after that, sleepily watching the sun start to set through the big roofline windows. Although Étienne hadn’t taken him, had barely put his fingers in, Hannibal felt a strange aching inside anyway. He rested his head on Étienne’s broad chest and curled his knees up against Étienne’s body. As he drifted between sleep and waking, he examined this experience and his reactions to it, filing the information away. Étienne draped an arm around him, breathing deeply and steadily beneath his cheek. Running his fingers affectionately through Hannibal’s hair, down the back of his neck, over his shoulders, and along his jaw. Petting him, like a stray kitten. Almost entirely ignorant of Hannibal’s past.

As the clock ticked down towards the end of Hannibal’s scheduled lesson, they got up and dressed reluctantly. Hannibal grimaced with distaste when he pulled his wrinkled clothes back on over his sticky skin. Étienne brushed Hannibal’s sweaty hair back into place with his fingers. Straightened his shirt and sweater vest. Absently re-knotted his school tie for him.

Just as Hannibal was pulling Étienne’s head down for one more kiss, they heard Étienne’s parents coming up the walk. They looked at each other for a moment, thinking _early!_ Étienne shoved the little jar of Abolone lotion into Hannibal’s school bag then they pounded down the stairs to the music studio just before the front door opened.

They could hear Étienne’s mother walking down the hall towards the music salon. Étienne gave Hannibal a quick once-over. He pulled the collar of Hannibal’s shirt up to cover the suck bruise on his neck. As his mother reached the salon door, Étienne handed Hannibal his folder of sheet music and patted him cordially on the shoulder, dismissing him. “ _Prochaine semaine_ , Hannibal.”

Hannibal nodded silently and ducked past Étienne’s mother as she came through the doorway. Uncomfortably certain she could smell Étienne’s scent all over him. How could she not? It was all he could smell; his head was full of it. He opened the front door and trotted down the stone steps with a backwards wave, heading home in the misty spring twilight.

“ _Pratique_!” Étienne called after him with an impish laugh.


	29. Chapter 29

Will tossed restlessly in Hannibal’s embrace, disturbed by the increasingly violent shaking of the ship even in his deep satisfied sleep. His eyes began to track fretfully behind his eyelids. In his mind he saw Abigail and Beverly and Alana- grey as funerary statutes, standing like an arrow of fates on the deck of the ship. He waited for double, double toil and trouble, but they said nothing.

With their pale hands they grasped the bucking stays and twisted them into a dark tapestry that showed him Hannibal at the bottom of the sea, crowned with kelp; his own body sinking into the black; green bones finally, nearly covered in shifting sand. He waited for them to cut the lines and release him, but they did nothing.

Will woke from this dream with a gasp like drowning to feel the ship shuddering fiercely around them, lifting and plunging on what felt like enormous waves. He could hear the sails snapping and grasped the reality of the situation immediately. The NOAA weather report had been right about the storm, but wrong about the day. He cursed himself for being careless in his desire. Careless of the weather. Careless of the night watch.

In the faint thundering light, Will could see that Hannibal was also awake.  He was wearing an expression of mild concern that Will knew could mean anything from minimal distress to outright terror. What was more clear, however, was that he was looking to Will for direction.

Will paused for a moment, head cocked and listening to the ship, then he jumped out of bed.

“Get dressed and come above, ok?” he asked Hannibal. “I might need you. But come carefully. The weather’s rough.”

He threw his clothes on and rushed out of Hannibal’s room. He grabbed his deck shoes from the sitting room and his life vest from the peg by the radio. He ran up the companionway, buckling the vest around his waist as he went, and flicked on the deck lights. Beyond the faint circle of the lights, it was pitch black. No moon. No stars. Will could hear the sails snapping in the high wind.

Something else was making a deep grinding groaning sound. Before Will could identify it, the autopilot’s motor gave out a high pitched squeal and then died with a final clanking clatter. Will drew his hand across his face flinging the water away from his eyes. ( _well_ _that’s going to be a fucking pain in the ass to fix_ )

He squinted into the cold driving rain, calculating crew abilities and storm speed. ( _heave to or run off? heave to._ )

He jerked around when he heard Hannibal come rushing up the stairs after him. Just then the mainsail billowed and pulled tight as it filled with gale force wind. The mast creaked and groaned in protest and the ship rolled sickeningly to the side. Will hollered at Hannibal to watch out as the windex snapped off the mast and shot into the deck like an arrow.

“We're going to heave to!” Will shouted as Hannibal skirted the windex, his voice barely audible over the screaming wind. “We need to reef the mainsail and then backwind the jib,” he yelled. “Remember how?”

Hannibal nodded, following Will across the slippery heaving deck. The mainsail roared as he and Will fought to haul it in. Before they could set the reef hooks through the grommets, a huge wave pitched the boat to the side taking Will and Hannibal with it. Will grabbed the mast and wrapped the standing line around his arm. 

“Hannibal,” Will yelled, looking over his shoulder. But Hannibal was gone.

Will let go of the rope and slid across the tilting deck, pushed by a sheet of rain. Salt spray broke over the pitching bow drenching him in cold water.

“Hannibal,” he called again. He was looking for the orange of the life jacket, but there was nothing.

The loose edge of the mainsail swung in the wind and caught him a glancing blow across the face, driving him to his knees.

“Hannibal!” he screamed, swiping blood from his mouth.

The generator shuddered and the deck lights flashed on and off. A burst of lightning gave him the outline of the deck and the reddish glow of Hannibal’s eyes on the starboard side. He was at the edge, the very edge, caught in a coil of rope. His hands wrapped around the slick metal railing. ( _no jacket. nojacketohmygod_ ) Will could see with perfect and heart-freezing clarity the moment Hannibal’s body began to slip over the pitching gunwale towards the ocean below.

He raced across the deck, slipping on the drenched wood. ( _please)_ He braced his feet against the gunwale, grabbed Hannibal around his forearms, and pulled. ( _please_ )

Hannibal tried to help him, pulling up on the railing, feet scrabbling for purchase against the hull. Hannibal was immensely strong, stronger than Will had ever imagined, but the forces at work on the boat were stronger still.

Will heaved him back and Hannibal moved closer to the deck. The sea slammed into the boat and Hannibal slipped again. Heave and slip. Heave and slip. They were caught in a tug of war with the storm and the storm was winning.

He and Hannibal looked into each other’s eyes as lightning flashed and the generator stuttered. Will pulled and pulled and pulled, movements strobic in the intermittent blasts of light. Waves crashed over the side and soaked them in frigid water. Will could hear Hannibal choking and coughing.

Will planted his feet more firmly against the gunwale and threw his weight back, gasping with panic and effort. He could feel the muscles in his chest and back straining, the barely healed bones in his left foot creaking in warning. ( _please please please_ )

Hannibal finally got the slick tilting hull under his feet and Will felt the balance of power shift. He heaved one last time and Hannibal used the leverage he'd gained to throw his body over the gunwale and flat onto the deck. He struggled to his knees, taking giant sucking breaths.

 “Ok? Are you ok?” Will yelled as Hannibal stood up.

Hannibal nodded, coughing up seawater. Shaking and gasping with the frigid memory of drowning in the North Atlantic. “I’m ok, Will.”

Satisfied Hannibal was safe, Will suddenly realized that he was furious, maybe more furious than he had ever been in his life. He grabbed a spare lifejacket from the locker at his knee and shoved it at Hannibal.

“Put that fucking life jacket on goddamn it,” he shouted, nearly sobbing.  “And don’t you _ever_ come above during a storm without a fucking life jacket again.”

He scrubbed his hands over his face wiping away tears and rain. “You could’ve drowned, Hannibal,” he yelled. “You could drown.” Almost too soft to hear over the hiss of the rain. “You could die.”

Hannibal reached for him, face nearly blank with shock and concern and Will batted his hands away.

“Put that jacket on. And come help me with the jib.”  Will drew a breath. “Fuck.” Then he turned away muttering about Hannibal not being fucking immortal.

Under Will’s furious command, they heaved to, turning the boat close to the wind and backwinding the jib. Together they locked the helm into position to keep the boat from turning broadside. Will sent Hannibal below to turn on the pumps and told him to stay there, just stay there, until Will called for him again.

The storm blew itself out just before dawn. Battered and bruised, they sat on the deck with matching shocky expressions and watched the sky lighten. The sun dawned bright and pink and tropical in the clear sky. Their ship floated serene and alone, a small dark speck in the vast blue ocean.

Will shook helplessly every time he glanced over at Hannibal. The image of his hands slipping on the steel railing and his body sliding towards the merciless sea flashing through his mind over and over and over. Finally he got up to check the GPS and start a pot of coffee.

Hannibal followed him cautiously down the stairs a few minutes later. Will was sitting at the navigation station, his head in his hands. Hannibal inhaled in delight at the smell of the coffee percolating.

“All right, Will?” he asked calmly, putting a gentle hand on Will’s trembling shoulder.

Will put his hand over Hannibal’s and squeezed it. “Yeah. We’re ok,” he said, reassuring himself. His voice was rough and scratchy with screaming into the wind. “The autopilot is totally fucked and I think we lost a piece of the windvane.“ He laughed ruefully. “Plus it looks like we’re about a hundred fucking miles off course. But, we’ll live.”

He turned to look up at Hannibal over his shoulder. “The Medeinė will be ok,” he said, giving the ship its real name as a sign of respect. “We need to make port though. Take on food and fuel and water. Replacement parts for the autopilot and the windvane. A new windex. There are plenty of islands around here. At least one of them should be big enough to have what we’re looking for and small enough so that we can avoid the masses of American tourists.”

Hannibal raised an eyebrow at him quizzically.

Will tilted the chartplotter’s screen so that Hannibal could see it. “Welcome to the Bahamas.” He sighed and smiled tightly. “I guess we’re taking the long way to Belize after all.”

He pulled his worn maps and port guides out of their storage compartment and set them on the desk so that he could pick a likely island and chart their course.

Hannibal reached over Will’s shoulder and gently tilted the chartplotter away. “You should sleep first, Will,” he urged softly. “Don’t you think?”

Will shook his head and reset the screen. “Not yet. We have no autopilot and no windvane to help with the sails or the steering. And you…” He yawned until it looked like his jaw would crack. “Don’t want to leave you to sail alone.”

Hannibal started to protest that he could sail while Will slept, but stopped when Will raised his hand wearily. “Would you… would you bring me some coffee, Hannibal? And maybe make something to eat?”

Hannibal smiled and kissed the corner of Will’s mouth. He felt relieved to be of use and hopeful that the crushing fear of the previous night and the desperate memories of drowning that still nagged at him would continue to fade as he made breakfast. “ _Bien sûr, cheri_.”

Before he left for the kitchen, he slid his fingers gently along the bruise on Will’s cheek and over the scabbed red laceration where the sail had whipped across his face during the storm. “Your face, Will,” he started.

Will chuckled. “I keep getting prettier as we go along, don’t I?”

Hannibal looked stricken for a very brief moment.  He started to say that Will was beautiful, so beautiful always, but Will held up his hand again.

“It’s ok, Hannibal. Everything’s ok.”

Hannibal nodded and turned towards the galley. “You’re a good captain, Will,” he called quietly over his shoulder.

Will smiled faintly. ( _careless. i was careless and it nearly got us killed_ ) “Hey, can you bring me some ice when you come back?” he called hoarsely. “Maybe some Advil too?”


	30. Chapter 30

After several exhausting hours under sail, they finally limped into the marina at Cape Eleuthera. Will slid into an open slip and tied off. He disembarked to pay the dockage fee and shoot the shit about the storm with the harbormaster. He rubbed his cheek ruefully and confessed to the harbormaster’s curious ten year old son that he’d been careless during the squall and a loose sail had hit him in the face. With a wide smile, he asked the boy to come back the following morning with the address of a good mechanic on the island.

“Early, kiddo,” Will said, handing him five bucks. “Ok?”

The boy nodded and raced off. Will lifted a hand to the harbormaster and stepped back on board the Eurybiê. The exchange had been friendly and light, but it had completely drained his last reserves. He staggered down the companionway and past the kitchen to Hannibal’s stateroom. Hannibal was already in bed, looking at him sleepily through slitted eyes.

“Is everything ok, Will?”

“Yeah,” Will yawned. “We’re all good for now.”

“Excellent. Then come to bed for a little while.”

Will tiredly stripped off his salt-stiffened clothes and slid into bed beside Hannibal. Hannibal curled around him protectively and draped his arm over his chest. Will laced his fingers through Hannibal’s and closed his eyes. Sleep claimed them immediately.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the unlikely event that any of you are from Cape Eluthera, I apologize for the major liberties I'm taking with your geography.


	31. Chapter 31

The ship rocked mildly on the small harbor waves. Will woke in the dark, alone and confused. ( _did i sleep all day?_ _what day is it? where are we?)_ He rubbed his hands over his face and winced as he scraped the raw laceration on his cheek. ( _right. right._ _the_ _storm. cape eleuthera_. _fuck i need to rebuild the autopilot motor_ )

Will groaned as he sat up, every muscle protesting. He put his hands in the small of his back and arched, feeling his spine pop. He crossed one arm across his chest and then the other, pulling against the stiff, damaged muscles in his shoulders to loosen them up. He ran his hands through his hair until it stood up in wild disarray.  He picked his rumpled, briney clothes up off the floor of the stateroom and pulled them back on with a moue of distaste.

He left Hannibal’s room and limped through the ship’s lounge. It was empty as was his cabin and the smaller one beside it. “Hannibal?” he called faintly with a storm roughened rasp.

He glanced into the dim empty kitchen then started up the companionway. The opening at the top of the stairs framed a square of deep blue sky. In the tropical dusk, Will could see the first faint scatter of stars and the brighter twinkle of boat and harbor lights.

He breathed deeply of the warm, calm sea air then plodded up the steps. He was favoring his left foot again. He stepped onto the deck then stopped short in surprise.

Hannibal was lounging in the aft cockpit with a book on the neurology of near death experiences, looking for all the world like a wealthy European tourist and nothing at all like a man who’d spent the prior evening being pummeled by rough weather and then almost dying. He was freshly showered and dressed exceedingly well, his long-ish hair tucked casually behind his ears. He was sipping a cocktail spiked with some kind of bright tropical fruit they definitely had not had on board.

Hannibal heard Will coming and gave him an intentionally coy and seductive look over the top of his book. Then he started chuckling and set the book aside.

“What?” Will asked, tugging at his worn shirt self-consciously and running his hand through his crunchy curls again.

“Your hair,” Hannibal said with a broad bemused smile. “All that saltwater. Oh, you do need a shower, Will.”

Chagrined and embarrassed, Will turned to go below and rinse off.

“No. No,” Hannibal said, getting smoothly to his feet. “You can shower in our villa, _cheri_.”

Will looked back at him, halfway between annoyed and curious. “What villa? And where did you get that drink? Is that an umbrella?”

“The villa I rented for us. Boatside bar service comes with the villa. And yes,” he said looking down at the glass in his hand with a small smirk. “I believe that is a little paper umbrella.” 

Hannibal walked over to Will and straightened his shirt with a little smile. He stroked Will’s unbruised cheek gently then held out his hand and pulled him close. Will wrapped his arms around Hannibal’s neck in response and leaned his forehead against his collarbone.

Hannibal felt the slight tension in his shoulders unwind when Will returned his embrace. In the back of his mind there remained a persistent sense of relief and disbelief that Will had stepped back into his arms at all. That he’d invited Hannibal to touch him, to kiss him. That he was still inviting it. Welcoming and reciprocating.

Hannibal bent his head to nuzzle behind Will’s ear and flicked his tongue over his salty skin just because he could. He chuckled again, deep in his chest, when Will shivered and sighed. Enamored by Will’s wonderful yielding sway.

“I packed a bag for you already,” he whispered into Will’s hair. “It’s in that little cabin where you used to sleep. Let me pack some things as well and we can go.”

“Not that I don’t appreciate the gesture, Hannibal, but we are perfectly well equipped to stay on this boat so…why?”

Hannibal smiled and tilted Will’s chin up to kiss him softly. “Endless hot water,” he murmured against Will’s mouth, giving him the detail he knew he would like the most. “Feather beds,” he continued, nipping at Will’s mouth. “Crisp linens. Fresh fruit and crackling pork.” His stomach growled. “The locals I met while you were napping said the best restaurant on the island is just a few blocks away.”

Will sighed and relaxed into Hannibal’s embrace, thinking of standing under an infinite cascade of hot water in a real shower. “Endless hot water,” he whispered, cheek pressed to Hannibal’s chest.

Hannibal smiled and nodded, rubbing Will’s sore back. “You can soak as long as you like.”

“What are we waiting for then?” Will murmured.

Hannibal kissed the top of Will’s head. “Nothing at all. Let’s get our bags and we’ll go.”

Will went below to retrieve the bag Hannibal had packed for him. He did try to spruce up a little before they left, but gave it up as a bad job. He really needed that shower and there seemed to be no point in changing clothes until he was clean.

In the stateroom, Hannibal packed his bag with a tailored shirt and trousers, a light jacket and a book. Undershorts and socks. A blazer and dress shoes. He considered wearing his linen suit to dinner- he probably wouldn’t have another opportunity until they reached Belize- but decided against it. Finally, after a moment of hesitation, he nestled the little glass bottle of slick in the front pocket of his overnight bag alongside his toiletries. Then he slung the bag over his shoulder and met Will on deck.


	32. Chapter 32

Hannibal led them along the little quay with barely concealed pride and up to the door of a two story oceanfront villa. Will shook his head and quirked an eyebrow at Hannibal as Hannibal ushered him inside, his hand hovering at the small of his back.

Hannibal took Will’s bag from him and set it aside with his own. He unzipped them and started unpacking, watching Will expectantly out of the corner of his eye as Will took in their luxurious new surroundings.

Unburdened, Will rolled his bruised shoulders and meandered around the spacious bedroom, picking up ocean-themed tchotchkes and putting them down. He opened the French doors to the private balcony and looked out at the twinkling marina. If he leaned out slightly, he could see the deck of their ship. He closed his eyes and listened to the churn of the dark waves hitting the harbor wall, letting the salt wind flow over his skin. Behind him, he could hear Hannibal shaking out their clothes and hanging them up in the empty closet.  

He stretched and walked back inside, heading for the shower. On his way to the bathroom, he pressed his hand experimentally into the bed’s plush feather topper and the resilient mattress beneath, humming with pleasant anticipation. It took all his self-control not to flop across it immediately, dirty, salty clothes and all.

Hannibal shot him a forbidding look that Will answered with a withering expression of his own. “Don’t worry. I wouldn’t mess up the _fine linens_.”

Will walked away from the beckoning bed towards the bathroom, stripping off unselfconsciously as he went. He tossed his shirt over one of the armchairs then stopped just in front of the bathroom door to toe off his shoes and drop his cargo shorts. There was no seduction in his movements, his mind was fixed entirely on the promise of infinite cascading hot water, but Hannibal watched him appreciatively anyway. We may make a mess of the _fine linens_ eventually, he thought, with a faintly predatory smile.

Will closed the bathroom door behind him and dropped his boxers, kicking them into the corner. He glanced into the mirror to check the bruise on his face and then sighed in resignation when he caught sight of the other wounds scattered across his body. There was a twining ligature mark around one arm from the standing stay, scrapes and bruises on his hands, faint red welts across his shoulders and waist from the bite of the lifejacket’s straps. In the back of his mind, he heard Dr. Andres commenting drily that he seemed distressingly prone to injury.

He rolled his eyes and turned his back on the mirror then climbed into the glass-tiled shower stall. He cranked the water as hot as he could stand it and stepped under the wide rainfall showerhead. He tipped his head back in profound satisfaction as the steaming water flowed over his body, stinging the shallow lacerations and soothing his sore muscles.

He cupped the water in his hands and poured it over his upturned face like a christening. Then he put his palms against the cool tile wall and leaned forward, letting the pounding water dig into his muscles. He rotated his shoulders gingerly to check the extent of the damage done when he’d hauled Hannibal back aboard the Eurybiê. Satisfied that he was more or less intact, he adjusted the showerhead, crossed his arms on the tile and rested his forehead on them so that the water could wash over his whole body. 

The deeply satisfying heat brought the blood flushing to the surface of his skin, highlighting all the little bites and suck bruises Hannibal had left on him. He ran his hand over his chest and throat, pressing his fingers into the worst of them to evoke the faint throbbing memory of pain.

He swayed this way and that under broad fall of steaming water, relishing its prickling caress, wondering idly when it would run out and how this little island hotel could possibly stay in business supplying so much of it. Wondering if the room had a water meter and whether his excessive use might show up on the bill.

Eventually he decided he should probably try to clean up before Hannibal started to get impatient. Didn’t they have dinner reservations somewhere? He opened his eyes and reached for the shampoo in the corner of the shower. He was just rinsing the lather and brine out of his hair when he heard the door click open.

“Will?” Hannibal called over the drumming water.

Will stuck his head out from behind the opaque curtain and flicked water out of his eyes. “Yeah?”

“You forgot this,” Hannibal said, holding out a bar of their dense spicy brown soap.

“Oh right. Thanks,” Will said, reaching for it.

Hannibal handed it over then paused. Will gave him a little grin, waiting. Withholding the invitation. Confident enough now to take a little advantage of Hannibal’s clear desire for him. He looked up at Hannibal from under his eyelashes and raised an eyebrow. ( _ask. i know you want to ask, so do it_ )

“Would you mind some company?” Hannibal asked finally.

Will could hear the barest hesitance in his voice. How he loved seeing Hannibal even slightly off-balance. He raked his eyes deliberately over Hannibal’s body and gave him his sharp teasing grin again. “Be my guest,” he said, sweeping the shower curtain open ostentatiously.

Hannibal stripped off and stepped into the stall with him. He’d already showered earlier in the day, but simply could not resist the opportunity to have Will like this, warm and wet and happy. Will backed into the clouds of steam so that Hannibal could have the water and Hannibal arched and sighed as the hot spray washed over him. 

Will could see Hannibal watching him out of the corner of his eye even as he basked in the hot water. Could _feel_ Hannibal's gaze sweeping over him like lightly questing hands. He could not remember the last time anyone had so openly hungered for his body. ( _or when he had ever invited such lavish observation_ ) It was exciting. A little unnerving. He lifted his arms over his head experimentally, stretching, showing off his lean musculature. Cautiously luxuriating in Hannibal’s ravenous regard.

Will drew a hand firmly over his body, sliding his palm from his throat to his chest to his belly. Then he sighed and leaned back heavily against the shower wall, wrapping one hand around his cock, stroking himself, languid and showy. He glanced over at Hannibal. Watching, a little shyly, as Hannibal's cock filled, flushing dark and heavy. Then he licked his lips and dragged the pad of his thumb lightly through the slippery glistening moisture at the tip of his own cock, spreading it down under the sensitive ridge.

Hannibal slicked his wet hair back out of his face and gave Will a pointed look. _(manipulative boy_ )

“You like to watch,” Will said, catching Hannibal’s eye.

“I like to watch you.”

Will chuckled and tipped his head back against the cool tile, closing his eyes as pleasure washed over him. “No. You like to watch in general. You’re a keen observer. All predators are.”

Hannibal went a little wide-eyed for a moment at the casual classification, the seemingly unqualified acknowledgment. Will opened his eyes slightly in the newly tense silence, furrowed his brow, and reached out for Hannibal with his free hand. Hannibal shook his head and stepped well out of his reach. He lounged against the opposite wall and crossed his arms over his chest. Even nude and soaking wet, he was imposing.

“Of course you’re right, Will,” he agreed, lifting one shoulder slightly. “So show me. Show me what you like.”

Will sighed deeply and nodded. “Quid pro quo though. I show you; you show me.”

Hannibal smiled tightly at him. “That’s acceptable.”

Will looked at him for a moment, no longer quite as confident. Hearing…something…in his voice, some little challenge. Always some little challenge.

Hannibal lifted his chin sharply before Will could let his nerves get the better of him. “Go on. Show me.”

Will closed his eyes and stroked himself once from base to tip, hips swaying forward. Hannibal watched him grip his cock more firmly and twist his hand just under the thick head, letting out a breathy little moan. He ran his other hand through his own hair and over his slightly open mouth. Down his throat and over his smooth chest. Undulating his lean body against the tile, bending to his own caress. Making a little…a little _show_...of himself for Hannibal.

Hannibal watched an errant spray of water cascade over Will's body, sliding in rivulets along the defined curves of his shoulders, his arms. Over ridges of his ribs and down over the long muscles of his thighs. He watched the water condense and pool in the hollow of Will’s collarbones and slide off, trickling over his nipples. He watched as the pink blush spread from Will's cheeks to his chest to his cock. 

“What are you thinking about?” Hannibal whispered, caressing himself slowly.

Will thrust his hips forward into his own hand and moaned louder. Cock pulsing, toes curling, so close already. It seemed he could feel Hannibal’s hands all over him, faint but real.

“You,” he whispered, raspy voice nearly drowned out by the falling water. “I’m thinking of you. Touching you. And of your hands on me. Your mouth.”

“Where?”

Will drew a shaky breath and shook his head slightly, denying Hannibal access to his fantasies. ( _it’s show. not show and tell._ )

“Tell me,” Hannibal insisted.

Will sighed and licked his lips,suddenly feeling more exposed than he’d bargained for. “Your…your mouth on my neck. Your teeth… Your hand around my throat. Your mouth on my nipples, biting.”

“Oh," Hannibal breathed plaintively, feeling his stomach clench with desire. In one long stride he closed the space between them and caged Will with his arms. He bent his head as though he would kiss Will’s neck. Will held himself still and quivering. Waiting for the contact that never came. He could feel the flow of Hannibal’s breath cooling his wet skin.

“My mouth on your cock?” Hannibal suggested with a deep sigh.

Will nodded and squirmed, feeling the charge of Hannibal's body all around him. “Your mouth on my cock. Hot and wet. And…” He paused.

“And between your legs?” Hannibal whispered knowingly, brushing his lips through the air just above Will’s throat.

Will blushed and turned his head away again, avoiding Hannibal’s prying little inquiry.

“Spreading you open with my hands and licking just there?” Hannibal pressed. “Licking until you’re all wet and warm and wanting? Wanting more. Wanting me inside. That’s what you like, isn’t it?”

Will took a deep breath, but couldn’t bring himself to say yes. He nodded instead, still avoiding Hannibal’s eyes. Hannibal took Will’s wrists and gently pulled his hands away from his body. He pressed Will's hands back flat against the wall, holding them down. Will shuddered, cock jerking at the sudden loss of contact. He moaned and spread his fingers along the cool glass tiles, trying to keep still, stay where Hannibal had put him. When Hannibal was satisfied that Will was going to leave his hands on the wall, he let go and leaned closer.

“For myself I like this spot right here,” he murmured matter-of-factly against the side of Will’s throat. “The skin is so thin and delicate. I can feel the rush of your heart under my lips. Your blood is so close to the surface it seems that if I pressed the tip of my tongue against your throat just a little harder, it would flow into my mouth.”

Will shook as a rush of pleasure bolted through him. “What, oh, what are you doing?”

“Quid pro quo,” Hannibal said, almost brushing his mouth over Will’s throat again.

“What?”

“Quid pro quo. You showed me what you like. Now I’ll show you what I like.” Hannibal trailed his tongue just along Will’s ear, never quite touching.

Will groaned in the back of his throat and rolled his hips forward, trying to entice Hannibal to press his powerful body against him and ease the hollow ache between his thighs. “That is _not_ what I meant by quid pro quo.”

“Perhaps next time you’ll be more specific,” Hannibal grinned, licking a single drop of water from Will’s neck.

Will shivered at the brief press of Hannibal’s tongue to his sensitive skin and tried to dig his fingers into the tile beneath them.

Hannibal skimmed his fingers through the air over Will’s chest just above his nipples. “I like this. You’re so sensitive here. If I scratch my nails over your nipples, if I take them in my fingers and press tight, so tight, you twist and moan for me."

Will writhed against the wall, imagining what Hannibal was describing. He tipped his head back, licking his lips and swallowing convulsively. Pressed himself back into the tile for support. Feeling Hannibal’s words and his not-quite-touch wrapping around him like dense fog.

Hannibal sighed in delight watching him. ”You’re so responsive, Will. It’s exhilarating. And I haven't even touched you yet.”

He drew his hands down over Will’s sides, never quite making contact, then slid them over Will's back and cupped them just above the curves of his ass. Will shivered and let his thighs fall slightly open. Hannibal groaned in the back of his throat. It was heady- these sudden unguarded little invitations, the permission to touch as he pleased after weeks of tense abnegation.

Hannibal ghosted his fingers between Will’s cheeks, the barest suggestion of a caress. “I like this,” he murmured, not quite nuzzling behind Will’s ear. “The way you quiver so prettily when I touch you here, where you're most vulnerable. The way you offer yourself up.” ( _trusting. trusting that i'll take care_ )

Hannibal leaned back and picked up the sweet sandalwood soap from the soapdish. He worked it between his hands until he had a handful of creamy suds.

“May I?”

Will spread his arms out slightly along the wall behind him, his whole body trembling now. “Be my guest,” he said again. A faint whisper this time, in contrast with his earlier sharp teasing.

Hannibal gave him a triumphant slicing little smile. ( _and_ _where is all your ostentatious bravado now?_ )

Hannibal put one hand on Will’s chest, feeling the helpless gasp of his breath. He let the thick lather he held slip down Will’s body then took Will’s pulsing cock in his soapy hand and stroked once, twice. Tight and twisting. Modeling Will’s earlier showy movements. Will took his hands off the tile, gripped Hannibal’s biceps, and held on. The previous night had been overwhelming, the ecstasy of it almost brutal, and he felt a faint soreness now beneath the swelling pleasure Hannibal was inflicting on him.

With his free hand, Hannibal covered his own cock with the slippery suds. He stroked once then stopped, letting the pressure back off. Stroked again and stopped. Then he suddenly let go, took Will’s shoulders, and turned him abruptly to the wall. Will caught himself with his hands as Hannibal pressed against his back and curled one arm around his chest to support his buckling weight.

Will made a sound that was halfway between a laugh and a moan. “Is it that kind of shower scene?”

“Hmm?” Hannibal asked absently, nosing up behind Will’s ear and rocking his hips slightly.

Will laughed again, clear and warm. “You’re probably the smartest person I’ve ever met, but your pop culture knowledge is… rudimentary at best.”

Hannibal sighed and rubbed his stubbled cheek against Will’s back and kissed his shoulder blade. “I love to listen to you laugh, Will. You should do it more often.”

Will shook his head and arched invitingly, pressing his ass back against Hannibal's cock. He looked over his shoulder. “You’re kind of a sap, you know that?”

“Hmm?”

Will chuckled. “Sentimental.”

“As long as it keeps you laughing…”

Will laughed again then tipped his head back and groaned as Hannibal pressed the long line of his body tight and hot against Will’s own. Will tilted his hips, feeling Hannibal’s hard cock sliding slickly over the curve of his ass and down into the narrow space at the top of his thighs.

He hummed with pleasure as he recalled being on the other side of this set up. Sliding his prick between Molly’s thighs, his arm wrapped tight around her slender waist, mouth open against her neck. Molly rising on her toes and bending forward a little, twitching her hips happily, inciting him to push into her slick wet heat.

Will inverted the memory and closed his thighs tighter around Hannibal’s cock, encouraging Hannibal to thrust between them. Hannibal wrapped one strong arm around Will’s narrow waist and slid his cock between Will's thighs over and over, shuddering as Will clenched and flexed his muscles. Hannibal angled his body so he could slip his cock up between Will’s cheeks, kissing the back of Will's neck and stroking his cock harder.

Will could feel the brief slick press of the broad swollen head against his opening as Hannibal moved. ( _oh_.  _oh_   _fuck_ ) “Please,” he panted, leaning his forehead heavily on his crossed arms. “Please.”

As soon as Will spread his legs and pushed back, as soon as he asked for it, invited it, Hannibal stopped. Stilling his hips and his hand. ( _are you all done teasing now?_ ) "We should wait,” he said with a retaliatory smile. “We have reservations.”

Will’s eyes flew open and he looked back over his shoulder in surprise. “What?”

“We should wait,” Hannibal repeated with a carefully constructed tone of sensibility. “If we don’t go soon, we’ll be late for dinner. They might even give away our table.” He gave Will’s cock one last tight and sliding caress before pulling away. 

“You have got to be kidding me.”

“I’m certain I’m not.” ( _you show me what you like and i show you what i like. and this is what i like- you, on the edge of control, shivering and needy)_

Hannibal backed away from the temptation of Will's quivering body so he could rinse the soap off. He was feigning complete nonchalance but when Will turned around he could see that Hannibal's monumental control over himself did not quite extend to the involuntary shaking in his thighs or the jump and pulse of his erection against his belly.

Will gave him a narrow, cutting look then shrugged. ( _quid pro quo. i suffer; you suffer_ ). He schooled his expression into one of mild disinterest, turned his back on Hannibal, and finished washing up.


	33. Chapter 33

Will came out of the bathroom scrubbing his damp curls with a towel, his skin flushed clean, his cock soft again but still aching. He looked over the clothes Hannibal had packed for him. Charcoal trousers and cotton undershorts. A blue button-up shirt and a soft, exceedingly lightweight sweater. A navy blazer and buffed leather shoes per the restaurant’s dress code (and Hannibal’s particular aesthetic).

Will frowned as he pulled the pants on and zipped them up. They were far more fitted that what he'd usually have picked for himself. The shirt was even worse, clinging to his back and shoulders as he pulled it on. He shivered at the sensation of the fabric molding itself to his body.

Hannibal walked over to him, towel wrapped around his waist and that infuriatingly smug little smile on his lips. He smoothed his hands over Will’s shoulders then started to button the tailored shirt closed.

“I can dress myself,” Will commented wryly, trying not to shake as Hannibal brushed his hands along his too too sensitive skin.

“Of course you can,” Hannibal smiled. “But you’ll indulge me anyway.”

“Oh will I?”

“Yes,” Hannibal said confidently. “You will.”

Will raised an eyebrow at him, but let him button the shirt closed anyway. When Hannibal was done, Will tucked the shirt in and buckled his belt.

“Arms up,” Hannibal murmured when he was finished, holding out the featherweight sweater.

“Is this entirely necessary?” Will asked, raising his arms skeptically.

“Not even a little bit,” Hannibal smiled, pulling the sweater over Will’s head. He smoothed it over his chest and pulled Will close. “But it gives me a relatively legitimate reason to put my hands on you, don’t you think?”

“You just had your hands all over me,” Will sighed, leaning against Hannibal’s bare shoulder. Shivering with the feeling of Hannibal’s firm touch laid over the tickling whisper of the tight clothes.

“That’s true,” Hannibal agreed mildly. “But it wasn’t nearly enough, Will. There’s so much time to catch up on.”

Hannibal put his finger under Will’s chin and tilted it up. Will wet his lips automatically and let his eyes drift closed. As he waited, lips slightly parted, for the press of Hannibal’s soft, treacherous mouth, he thought again, my god what _is_ this life?

Hannibal brushed his lips gently against Will’s, but Will didn’t quite feel it. He was lost in his own thoughts. He felt a bit hollow suddenly. A little bereft. A little frightened of himself. It was one thing to save Hannibal’s life after Hannibal had saved his. One thing to take him out to sea where he was…safe? Or where the world was safe? But it was another, wasn’t it, to kiss him, and sleep with him, and…and go to dinner with him like any of this was fucking normal? What was wrong with him, that he should want this so much? That he would long for the touch of Hannibal’s hands, or more ( _or worse?_ ) for the touch of his mind?

Hannibal pulled back a little as if he could feel the restless run of Will’s thoughts. He tilted his head and looked into Will’s clear blue eyes curiously.

“What is it, _mylimasis_?”

( _it means_ _beloved. beloved. beloved. oh god what is this life?_ ) Will shook his head and twined his fingers in Hannibal’s hair. “It’s nothing,” he whispered.

Hannibal looked at him intently a moment longer, then closed his eyes and leaned in again. “It’s a rare thing now when your mind is closed to me,” he murmured before claiming Will’s mouth in a searching kiss.

Will sighed and yielded, leaning into Hannibal’s ardent embrace. His body clearly more certain about what it wanted, about what was good to want, than his mind. Beloved, he thought as Hannibal kissed him reverently, cupping his face in his broad hands. Beloved. Beloved.

When Will’s stomach growled insistently, Hannibal finally broke off and smiled. “Let me get dressed and then we can eat.”

 

“Being back on dry land seems to agree with you,” Will observed as they walked along the marina to the restaurant.

“Yes,” Hannibal agreed amiably, breathing deeply of the delicate pink frangipani growing alongside the quay. “Not dying in a freak storm and finding myself instead in this little tropical paradise has put me in an excellent humor.”

At the glittering, glass walled restaurant on the bay, they were escorted to their table by a waiter in an expensive black suit. Hannibal thought to pull out Will’s chair for him, but restrained himself.

After they were seated, Hannibal opened his menu and reviewed the array of local dishes. “May I order for you, Eli?”  he asked with a little smile, putting the very slightest emphasis on Will's public alias.

Will raised an eyebrow at him yet again. “Is this a date, Dr. Kalashnik?”

“Yes,” Hannibal answered, still studying the menu. 

“Am I the girl?”

Hannibal laughed and glanced up. “Would you like to be?”

Will gave him a sour look.

“You don’t need to be _the girl_ , as you say, for me to take you out. I would so enjoy it and I’ve never had the chance you know.” He put on a mildly imploring look that rang just a little false to Will. “What’s one more whim to indulge?”

Will continued to give him an excessively skeptical look.

Hannibal shrugged minutely and tried a different tack. “I let you captain our ship. With gratitude, of course. Why not let me take care of things on dry land?”

“I guess that’s fair….” Will paused. “As long as you know ….”

“Yes, yes,” Hannibal interrupted, flipping open the wine list and lifting one hand in a magnanimously victorious gesture. “You’re perfectly capable of fending for yourself. You can live utterly without luxury in the wild woods and survive off fish and berries and sleep on the cold ground with a pack of dogs and whatever else you need to hear.”

Will looked at him incredulously, mouth slightly open. Hannibal _never_ called him out so bluntly or so casually.

“I… I don’t sleep on the ground,” he protested, saying the first nonsensical thing that leapt to his mind.

“Of course you don’t,” Hannibal said absently as he read through the list of reds. Then he looked up, leaned slightly across the table, and cast his eyes deliberately over Will’s body. “I only mean you are still a man,” he said, sliding the tip of his tongue over the point of one canine. “Still masculine, if that is really your ( _tiresome_ ) concern, even if you let me dress you up in fine fitted clothes like that, and order dinner for you, and then take you to bed on clean soft sheets.”

Will shifted restlessly in his chair, inundated by a flush of heat. Tormented by the slide and grasp of his clothes as he moved.

Hannibal watched Will’s face and throat go slightly pink again and smiled at him, sharp and satisfied. Then he went back to perusing the wine list.

The waiter appeared at Hannibal’s shoulder. “Gentlemen?” he said politely. “May I bring either of you a cocktail before dinner?”

“Please,” Hannibal answered, before Will could say anything. “May we start with two yellowbird martinis, no garnish?”

The waiter nodded, turning slightly towards Hannibal and away from Will. “Of course, sir. And would you like to order now or would you like some more time with the menu? Or you would like a recommendation perhaps?”

“I believe we’re ready,” Hannibal said. “You will let me know if I order something you would not recommend?“

“Certainly, sir.” The waiter glanced over his shoulder as if to make sure no one was listening. “The only thing I would not recommend tonight is the cracked conch. Our usual fisherman is out visiting family. This new fellow…” The waiter made an evocative little gesture that indicated how very untrustworthy he found the substitute fishmonger.

Hannibal grinned at him. The waiter’s frank, and frankly inappropriate, confession convinced him that he’d found an opinion he could trust.

“Everything else is very fine,” the waiter continued, with a little bow and a small answering smile. “The pork souse especially is very good. It’s the chef’s family recipe. Pork souse is a native dish. Maybe you know this. Onions, a little lime juice, celery, peppers, local potatoes, carrots, and some bay leaves.”

“Excellent," Hannibal replied. “We would like that and the smoked pork tenderloin. And may we also have a bottle of the Morgan cru Beaujolais _?_ ”

The waiter inclined his head slightly. “Of course. Excellent choices.”

He swept quickly away with their order and returned nearly as quickly with their cocktails. After being assured that they needed nothing else just now, he turned and whisked off efficiently.

Hannibal sipped his martini and felt the warmth of the rum and the brandy spread through him immediately. “Oh, this is well made.”

Will looked askance at the yellow concoction. He was not much for fruity drinks. “What’s in it?”

“Rum, apricot brandy, Galliano, lime and pineapple juice. Some bartenders garnish it with a slice of banana as well, which is unnecessarily childish. It’s a good prelude to Caribbean food. I believe I first had it in Cuba.”

Will tasted his sweet/sour drink hesitantly. “When were you in Cuba?”

Hannibal took a long swallow of his cocktail and set the glass down, nearly empty. “I think it was 1985. I had been in New York City to see a world premiere at the Joffrey Ballet. Then I flew to Quebec in order to fly to Cuba. There was no leisure travel between the United States and Cuba in those days.”

In those days, Will thought with a little snort of amusement as he drained his glass. As though Hannibal were centuries older than him, describing an incomprehensible world that had since moved on. He set his glass down unsteadily and blinked in dizzy surprise. 

Hannibal smiled at him knowingly. “Yes, they’re deceptively strong. Would you like another?”

“I think maybe…no?” Will said, rubbing his hands over his face. “Thank you for the introduction though,” he continued, making an effort to match Hannibal's manners. “It was ( _very very alcoholic_ ) very good.” 

The waiter returned presently with their food and the bottle of wine Hannibal had ordered. Once he had Hannibal’s approval, he filled their glasses and disappeared again.

Hannibal lifted his glass slightly and Will followed.

“What shall we drink to?” Hannibal asked.

“To fair wind and following seas,” Will said immediately. “And may the autopilot be cheap and easy to fix,” he added.

Hannibal grinned and tilted his wine glass. “As you say, Eli.”

They drank deeply and set their glasses down. Will fought a wave of intoxication as he watched Hannibal gingerly cut into his tenderloin. He was extremely curious to hear Hannibal's opinion. He didn't think he'd ever seen him eat anyone else's cooking beyond Andres's sandwiches and his own basic efforts.

“Well?” Will asked as soon as Hannibal had taken a bite.

Hannibal swallowed and nodded. “It’s well-seasoned. Smoked in some kind of fruit wood. Peach wood maybe. The glaze is very nice, not overpowering. It’s unexpectedly good actually.”

Will made a small gesture of relieved acknowledgment and speared a piece of pork from his stew. Hannibal watched him bite into it, relishing the way his teeth tore into the tender meat, the fat glistening on his mouth before he licked it away. 

Will flushed slightly pink again, aware of Hannibal's eyes on him. Understanding in his strange way that Hannibal was watching him for the simple sensual pleasure of it. And not, he thought, chewing slowly, not in the avid, avaricious way he used to watch when it was his cooking at issue. Will paused with the next bite halfway to his mouth. There was a click in the center of his mind as several old thoughts met in a new configuration. ( _a sounder is a small group of pigs/finish your breakfast_ ) Of course the weight of Hannibal’s gaze was different; he had not seen to the slaughter of this pig himself and the meal did not represent a gruesome little inside joke on the diners.

“How is it?” Hannibal asked, puzzled by his odd expression.

“Good,” Will responded, shaking his head and tucking into his dish again. “Not…not as good as anything you ever served,” he admitted with extreme reluctance, “but good.”

Hannibal smiled outwardly at the compliment, marveling inwards at the implication.

They finished dinner in relative silence. Hannibal happily considering a number of possible variations on his dish. Will pushing away a tumbling cascade of images of Hannibal watching people eat from his table.

Nearly the moment they were done, their waiter re-appeared to clear their plates. Before he left, he set down two small red leather dessert menus. Sweets and cheeses on one side, coffees and cordials on the other.

Hannibal opened his menu and reviewed it. Will left his shut on the table, folded his hands, and waited.

“I think I’ll order the black pineapple crème brulee,” Hannibal said. “Look here; it says it’s served inside a carved out slice of grilled pineapple. How amusing." He looked up at Will. "And you, Eli?”

Will put his hand on his closed menu and raised his eyebrows. "Oh, do I get to pick this course myself, Doctor?"

"Certainly I can order dessert for you as well, if that's what you'd like," Hannibal said, with a gliding grin. "I don’t know that I have a good sense of your preferences though. I know you like apple pie and blackberries with cream,” he said slowly, remembering Will biting into a tiny wild apple, the thin pale line of juice that spilled from his mouth. “But there’s nothing quite like that on this menu,” he continued. “Of course, you could always decline dessert,” he teased, “and then eat half of mine.”

Will looked at him acerbically. “If I were watching my figure?”

Hannibal chuckled and drained the last of his wine.

Will shook his head in tipsy exasperation and looked back at the dessert menu. “There's something called The Bahamas that looks good. Sponge cake, banana cream, and chocolate ganache." He sighed and rubbed his full belly. "I miss chocolate. We should take some on before we leave."

"I didn't know you had such a sweet tooth, Eli," Hannibal said, gliding his tongue along the shape of Will's fake name, watching Will's hand spread smooth over his stomach. "Of course, we'll take on whatever you like."

Will shifted under Hannibal's frank appraisal, feeling a slow warmth bloom in his chest. He dropped his hand self-consciously from his belly to his lap and shot Hannibal a narrow look that made him chuckle again. You never used to laugh so much, Will thought vaguely. ( _i could get used to that sound_ )

When the waiter returned, Hannibal ordered the crème brulee and the chocolate banana cake along with two cordials.

After their waiter had come and gone again, Hannibal lifted his cordial glass in a little salute and waited for Will to answer it. Will started to object, concerned about drinking so much after so many weeks of careful moderation, but Hannibal cut him off.

“We don’t have to be anywhere tonight. Except here. There’s no night watch. No danger of rough seas.” He sat back in his chair and gestured expansively with his delicate little glass of spicy-sweet amber liquor. “Why not enjoy it?”

Will picked up the other glass and held it to the light to watch the liquid glimmer. “I suppose I can’t really argue with that.”

Hannibal sipped the cordial then ran his spoon through the custard that was nestled into a slice of sweet grilled pineapple. “This is fairly good,” he commented finally, "Would you like to try it?”

“Sure,” Will said. “Thanks.”

Hannibal cracked the caramelized crust at the edge of the pineapple and dipped his spoon into the creamy custard beneath. Then he held the composed bite out for Will to taste. Will glanced around quickly and let Hannibal feed him before anyone noticed.

He swallowed the sweet-tart crème brulee and looked down at the table, fidgeting with his napkin. “That’s…we shouldn’t do that. Not here.”

Hannibal gave him a questioning look.

Will tapped his fingers against the table. “The Bahamas…is sometimes not a good place for…” He shook his head, at a loss for words. The Bahamas isn’t a good place for gay people, he meant to say. He wasn’t gay, but this...this relationship was, right?

“Two men together?” Hannibal suggested softly, interrupting the anxious twist of Will's thoughts.

“Yeah. There was a big scandal a few years ago. It was in all the papers. The mayor of Nassau wouldn’t let a gay cruise ship dock there. And that’s a big tourist city. This is just a small town…”

“I understand,” Hannibal said. Unconcerned, he dipped his spoon back into the crème brulee and licked the soft creamy custard off with obvious enjoyment.

Will’s stomach cramped with desire as he watched the flicker of Hannibal’s tongue against the spoon. He looked down at his chocolate cream cake, but he’d lost his appetite for it.

“Would you like to talk about it?” Hannibal asked after a brief pause.

“Talk about what,” Will said distantly.

“Whatever is bothering you.”

“Is this therapy now?”

“It can be.”

Will gave him a withering look.

“Tell me,” Hannibal said gently.

Will pushed the sponge cake around the dish. He thought about Étienne and Alana and Bedelia. A lifetime of other lovers he knew nothing about. “Do you… consider yourself…” He stopped, sighing. ( _this is stupid_ )

“Consider myself what?”

 “I don’t know. Not gay probably, but bisexual?”

“Is that how you identify?”

Will shook his head. “I always identified as straight. I’ve been attracted to other guys, a couple times in my life maybe. Never did anything about it.”

Hannibal nodded. “I don’t know the last time I was asked to identify my sexuality,” he mused. “If I _was_ asked, I suppose I would just say that I love beautiful things.”

He smiled and brushed Will’s fingertips with his own, briefly and out of sight of the rest of the room.

Will tapped the tip of his spoon against the bottom of his dish. Hannibal grimaced slightly and turned his head as if to avoid the irritating little metallic sound. Before he could reach over and still Will’s hand, Will set his spoon down of his own accord.

Hannibal smiled at him, intrigued. “You can ask me anything you like. Always.”

“Did you have…other women…before Alana?” he asked, embarrassed by his knee-jerk curiosity. Hoping that Hannibal didn’t think he was jealous.

Hannibal chuckled. ( _is that all?_ ) “Of course. After Étienne there was Antoinette. The first girl I made love with. Soft and lovely and effervescent. ” He paused then, considering a question Will hadn't asked. “But many of my relationships... Perhaps all but this one have been, at bottom, matters of convenience. A pleasurable means to another end. Étienne, who taught me so many things. Antoinette, who secured my access to the university’s private library and the faculty-only research labs. On and on. Peter and Alana and Bedelia. Pleasant ( _useful_ ) company to pass the time.” ( _among other things_ )

He trailed off, looking down at his cupped hands as though he held the unfolding past within them. Will cocked his head, listening intently.

“Beautiful foils. Beautiful distractions,” Hannibal continued. He looked up at Will seriously and brushed his fingertips again. “And then there was you. Only you and nothing else.”

Will squinted at him, considering their disastrous history. “And I wasn’t a means to an end?”

Hannibal drew a hand shakily over his face and looked away. “If I could walk the rest of my life beside you… in whatever capacity…” He sighed and shook his head, chuckling ruefully. “I believe I could sit at your feet while you tied your fishing lures and it would be enough.”

He spread his hands then, looking down into the space he’d opened as though he might find an answer there or a cure. “I never ever expected you, Will," he murmured softly, "and yet, I think I have been waiting for you all of my life.”

Will’s breath caught in his throat at the depth of Hannibal’s grudging confession. Then he snorted and shook his head, retreating from the sweeping undertow of Hannibal’s affection. “You get maudlin when you drink. How did I not know that?”

Hannibal’s face went still and blank. He lifted one shoulder casually, letting Will deflect as he always did. It didn’t matter and it didn’t change anything. Will belonged to him and he belonged to Will. Had belonged to him for some time. For better or for worse. In life. In death. Will was his true North now.

He folded these sentiments carefully away, saving them for a future in which Will might accept them, return them. Then he gave Will a small seductive smile and ordered them each another drink.


	34. Chapter 34

After dinner, they strolled silently along the worn and empty boardwalk, leaving the bright clattering noise of the restaurant and the glittering marina behind. A walking digestif before bed, Hannibal had suggested with a sly look.

Their hands swung in time, brushing slightly, and Hannibal found himself supremely reluctant to stop touching. He took advantage of Will’s tipsy affability to take his hand briefly. To wrap an arm indiscreetly around his narrow waist, his broad shoulders. To guide him around a loose board in the path with a hand at the small of his back. Will was vaguely aware that he was being _squired_ along here, but was just intoxicated enough to tolerate it. Besides, he thought, as Hannibal steadied him with a hand at his elbow, it was sort of pleasant, wasn't it? Being ( _protected_ ) attended to?

Together, they walked towards a small stone bridge just beyond the end of the boardwalk. As they reached the deep shadows beneath the arch, Hannibal cupped the back of Will’s head and pushed him roughly up against the curving stone buttress, kissing him fiercely. Nipping at his mouth with his sharp teeth. Chasing the lingering sweetness of chocolate and cordial clinging to Will's lips. He slid his free hand under Will's sweater and yanked the hem of the dress shirt up so that he could flatten his palm possessively on Will’s warm skin.

Will groaned in the back of his throat and sagged against the wall, feeling the craggy rock digging into his sore back. Desire sparked all along his spine as he let Hannibal open his mouth with his tongue. Will plunged his hands into Hannibal’s silky hair and pulled sharply, feeling Hannibal moaning hot and helpless against his mouth.

The tight fabric of Will’s trousers stretched taut as Hannibal pressed his thigh between Will’s legs, pushing them open, encouraging Will to rub against him. Will slid his hands down over Hannibal's shoulders and grabbed the lapels of his jacket to pull him closer. Hannibal took Will’s wrists and pulled them up over his head, pinning them to the dewy, grey stone. Will shook his head ( _shouldn’t do this here shouldn’t_ ) but rocked mindlessly against the thick muscle of Hannibal’s flexed thigh anyway, sighing and moaning with growing abandon. Hannibal devoured the needy sounds that spilled delirious from Will’s mouth, pressing his wrists tighter against the stones, pushing his thigh more firmly against Will’s stiffening flesh. Thinking Will, Will, Will. And warm and here and mine.

Lost in each other, they were initially unaware of the man approaching unsteadily from the other end of the bridge. He had almost reached them before they felt his presence. They heard him make a small disgusted sound as he walked by, the smell of alcohol on his breath overwhelming in the close dark.

“Faggots,” he hissed as he passed, spitting at their feet.

Will started angrily and pulled away from Hannibal. The reflexive cultural shame Hannibal could see on Will’s flushed face set his teeth on edge. He turned sharply away from Will and towards the man who’d taunted them.

Before Will or the doomed man could react, Hannibal had hooked his foot around the man’s ankle to pull him off balance and slammed his head quickly and efficiently down on the stone wall running alongside the harbor and up to the edge of the bridge. He let the limp body roll over the edge of the wall and drop into the water below it. He watched calmly and with pleasant satisfaction as the black waves rolled the unconscious man face down and the outgoing tide began to pull him out to sea.

“Hannibal!” Will seethed, pushing himself away from the wall, eyes wide in shock and fury. “What the fuck?”

Hannibal shrugged and dusted his immaculate hands off. “That may have been impulsive. But you have to admit that he was very rude to us, Will.”

Hannibal’s tone was light and eminently reasonable, but Will noticed he was not quite meeting his eyes.

“I… Jesus Christ! Are you _trying_ to draw attention to us?”

“I’ve done no such thing,” Hannibal insisted, nonchalantly adjusting his cuffs. “He was drunk. And sometimes drunk people trip and fall and come to an untimely end. It’s terribly tragic, but it’s the way of things.”

Will looked at Hannibal, jaw tight.“The way of things. The fucking way of things?” 

He exhaled heavily and rubbed his hands over his face, stricken with the sense of having failed in some fundamental fashion- failed to stand between this dangerous, lovelorn beast and the rest of the world. ( _i bought this. i own it_ )

Hannibal regarded Will steadily, his posture bordering on contrite, waiting to see what Will would do. He was deeply disappointed to have been interrupted before he could explore the limits of Will’s tolerance for relatively public affection.

Will looked around Hannibal’s crime scene. There were only few footprints in the hardpack beneath the bridge. Theirs or someone else’s; it was impossible to tell. They hadn’t touched the stones with their fingers and, even if they had, there were barriers to lifting prints from stone, especially in this humid climate. And there was no reason to believe anyone would think to do that anyway. The small dark splash of blood Will could see on the harbor wall would wash away with the seasonal morning rain. And if it didn’t, what story would it tell? Only that someone had stumbled and fallen and hurt themselves.

Finally, Will closed his eyes and sank into the black, mentally rewinding their steps. In his mind, he watched the harbor lights spill out as though from some giant reel, proceeding in a state of slowly diminishing repair as they walked. Changing from steady and new in the marina to flickering and broken at the end of the quay, here by their bridge. The wavering cast of obscuring shadows. Besides, it was late and it was the off season. He’d seen no one else on the way here and it seemed unlikely they’d meet up with anyone on the way back.  He hadn’t seen any security cameras on the walk down either.

He let out a deep sigh and returned to the present. In truth, this was highly likely to be perceived as exactly what it looked like- a tragic drunken accident.  And it was highly _un_ likely to be connected with them in any case. It was only his guilt that said otherwise.

“Well,” Hannibal said, somewhat impatiently. “Your verdict?”

Will grimaced. “First, in the future, if you feel the need to protect my honor- don’t. If you feel the need to protect your own honor- don’t.”

He ran his hands through his hair restlessly. “I think we’re fine. Even assuming that man can be traced back to this location, everything on the scene suggests accident and there’s nothing to contradict that conclusion that I can see or imagine.”

“Yes, I concur,” Hannibal said acerbically. “I do have some experience in this area.”

Will nodded. ( _yes. remind me. remind me what you are a million times as though i would forget_ ) “Then let’s go. Before anyone else comes along and… insults your shoes.”

“As you say, Will,” Hannibal said, slightly chastened, but generally unapologetic.

They walked back to the villa side by side, hands swinging in time but not quite touching now. Will's body was slanted away, his eyes on the ground in front of them, his mind closed. Hannibal wondered with an unwelcome little flicker of worry whether Will was going to be upset with him for an extended period of time and whether he might insist on sleeping separately again. His fingers twitched briefly in dismay at that unpleasant thought.


	35. Chapter 35

By the time they reached their villa, Will was limping again and holding his body tight against pain, his mouth pressed into a thin pale line. After they walked into their room, Hannibal took Will’s navy blazer off and hung it up.

“Sit down, Will,” Hannibal said, gesturing towards their bed. “I’m concerned you reinjured yourself pulling me back onboard the ship.”

Will waved his hand impatiently, but sat down anyway. “It’s nothing. A sprained ankle and pulled muscles.”

“Nevertheless,” Hannibal insisted gently. He took his own blazer off and hung it up then unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves.

Will groaned and flopped backwards on the offensively comfortable bed, arms outstretched. A complete ‘do what you want’ gesture.

“Is this another relatively legitimate reason for you to put your hands on me?”

“Perhaps,” Hannibal said, smiling slightly with relief. It seemed Will did not plan on holding the evening’s…mishap…against him. At least, not right at the moment. And might still be amenable to picking up where they’d left off.

He knelt at Will’s feet and unlaced the polished leather shoes and pulled them off. He peeled off the thin silk dress socks and set them aside. He took Will’s left foot in his hands and pressed his fingertips gently on either side of the anklebone. Then he drew them down over the extensor tendons, head cocked, searching for injury.

He set Will’s foot on his bent thigh, rolled his left pant leg up above his knee and slid his hands along Will’s calf, fingers combing through the thick hair and digging into the muscle beneath as he had done in Inlet Peninsula. His touch was similarly gentle and inquisitive, but not quite as clinical as it had been then.

Will took a deep, shuddering breath. He felt the same flush of heat flaring up from Hannibal’s hands as he had in their cottage. This time, however, he was free to give in to it and let it wash over him. His breathing sped up and went ragged, his pulse fluttering in his throat, as Hannibal swept his fingers firmly from calf to ankle and back.

Will groaned and put his hands over his eyes as he felt his cock stiffen again, his body aching with the cycle of desire and denial. He knew he should be angry at Hannibal for what he’d done. At himself for not stopping it in time. He knew he should push Hannibal away and chastise him. But he didn’t seem to have it in him. He was drunk, and well-fed, and overwhelmed. But more than that, he simply didn’t want to. He only wanted to lie here and feel, and feel, and feel the response of his touch-starved body to Hannibal’s hands. There was the lovely vertiginous sensation of letting the guilt go. Of letting it all go.

Hannibal felt the precise moment that Will gave up and relaxed into his caress, the faint vibration of dismay that had surrounded him fading away. He drew his hands firmly over Will’s calf once more then kissed his knee and set his foot down gently on the floor.

“Will I live?” Will murmured behind his hands.

Hannibal smiled and stood up. “Yes. That is my expert medical opinion. Come. Sit up a moment so I can see about your back.”

Will groaned in protest, but levered himself up, sitting at the edge of the bed as Hannibal directed.

“Arms up,” Hannibal said softly.

Will complied dizzily. Hannibal pulled Will’s sweater over his head, marking the mildly impaired range of motion. Then he folded the sweater neatly and set it on the chair beside the bed.

“Now this,” Hannibal said, holding Will’s gaze as he slowly unbuttoned his shirt.

He pushed the sides of the shirt open and slid his hands under the fabric and across Will’s warm skin, sweeping his thumbs back and forth briefly across his nipples. The friction of his broad calloused hands was quick and harsh and welcome.

Will looked up at Hannibal and rubbed his hand across the back of his neck under his shaggy, sunstruck hair. “This feels terribly unprofessional, Doctor.”

“I assure you I have my patient’s best interests in my mind.” Hannibal smiled. He unbuttoned Will’s cuffs before sliding the shirt off his shoulders entirely and draping it over the back of the chair.

Hannibal laid his strong hands gently at the base of Will’s neck, holding just there until Will took a deep breath, and closed his eyes, and tipped his head back with another soft sigh of acquiescence. Hannibal licked his lips and stroked the pads of his thumbs over the long line of Will’s throat, feeling Will swallow beneath the scant threat of his hold.

Hannibal slid his hands along Will’s shoulders and around his biceps, testing for pain and swelling, for re-injury to any of his old wounds. He curved his hands behind Will’s shoulders and dug his fingertips firmly into the trapezius muscle. Will whined under his breath and gritted his teeth.

“Sore?” Hannibal asked, thinking of Will straining to haul him back onto the ship in the storm.

Will nodded and wrapped his arms around Hannibal’s waist, leaning his scarred cheek against the bare curve of his furred belly. “Yeah. But I’m right,” he insisted with a small struggling smile. “It’s just sprained muscles.”

Hannibal took Will in his arms and held him. Combed his fingers through Will’s hair. Bent forward a little and kissed the top of his head with gratitude.

“You’re right,” he agreed, voice trembling slightly. “Just sprained.” “You can lie back again now, if you like,” he murmured.

Will sighed and slid backwards, collapsing gratefully into the enveloping cradle of the soft feather bed. He spread one arm out across the fluffy comforter and threw the other across his eyes, blocking the overhead light. Hannibal turned the light down until the room was in shadow.

“Perfect,” Will whispered drowsily from under his arm.

“Perfect would be candlelight,” Hannibal said, imagining Will, bare and beautiful, in a vast room filled with tiny flickering gold flames. “But we can make do.”

Will felt Hannibal’s hands on the waistband of his trousers, his fingers on the button, then the zipper. He moaned and lifted his hips into the faint pressure of Hannibal’s fingertips skating over his erection as he slowly dragged the zipper down. There was a rush of cooler sea air over his skin as Hannibal pulled the pants off. Then a heady warmth prickling his body from scalp to toes.

Will squirmed and shifted restlessly, covering his eyes with both hands again and bending one thigh over the other as though to shield himself. Hannibal watched with pleasure as a light pink blush bloomed in Will’s cheeks and spread down his throat and over his bare chest.

“Lovely,” he whispered.

He grasped Will’s knee and pressed his thigh back onto the bed so that his legs lay side by side again. Will groaned, feeling his muscles clench and resist.

“Just stay like that a moment,” Hannibal said, as he unbuttoned his own shirt and hung it up. “I want to look at you.”

Will bit his lip and nodded, fighting not to curl around himself again. Hannibal hadn’t spread his legs apart or stripped his shorts off, and yet he felt completely exposed.

Hannibal unlaced his shoes and set them on the closet floor with his socks then took off his trousers and draped them over one of the hangers. Deliberately slow. Prolonging the wait. Giving Will space to call it off, if he wanted to. He looked at Will over his shoulder.

“You’re trembling, Will. Are you cold?”

Will shook his head. Hannibal turned and stood at the end of the bed, watching the muscles in Will’s tensed stomach jump and flutter. 

“Frightened?”

Will shook his head again then nodded slightly as desire temporarily robbed him of speech.

“Yes and no?” Hannibal suggested.

Will paused then nodded.

“Frightened of me?” Hannibal asked, knowing that wasn’t it.

Will shook his head emphatically and rolled his body sinuously against the luxurious bedcovers.

“Frightened of what then?”

“Of what I want,” Will whispered.

“And what is it you want?”

“You,” Will sighed, nearly too soft to hear.

“What was that, Will? I couldn’t quite hear you.”

( _you heard me just fine. arrogant prick_ ) “You,” Will said with more force. “I want you.”

“Even though?” Hannibal asked, thinking of the events of the last few hours. Weeks. Years.

“Even though,” Will murmured. Or even _because_ , his treacherous mind offered before he could quash it.

Hannibal thought about pulling Will’s hands away from his eyes then, of asking Will to look at him, but he didn’t. Let him have the dark for a little while longer.

He leaned over the bed and swept his hands through the air just the barest whisper above Will’s body. Will could almost feel it, exquisite and crackling and electric. Not this again, he thought desperately. I don’t think I can bear it. ( _please just touch me. please_ )

Hannibal dropped his hands to the waist of Will’s undershorts, lifted them up considerately over his hard, straining cock and pulled them off. Will exhaled and rocked his hips side to side in response to the brief touch of Hannibal’s hands and the sudden release from the pressure of the binding fabric.

Hannibal set his palms on Will’s thighs and pressed hard into the long muscles, drawing his hands up and smoothing them down. There was more friction than was ideal and Hannibal thought he would have to remember to pick up some sesame oil from the little island grocery before they left. ( _and chocolate for Will and maybe they would have apples as well_ ).

Will writhed against the bed, curving his body gracefully into Hannibal’s hands. He tilted his hips up and back, sighing and stretching as Hannibal pressed his fingers deeply into the muscles of his thighs. Hannibal’s touch was firm and heavy as though he was apologizing for the evening’s agony of tickling, teasing, fluttering.

Hannibal knelt astride Will, his knees sinking into the feather bed. Will set his palms on Hannibal’ s folded thighs below the hem of his shorts and swept the tips of his fingers just underneath, skimming over the soft tender skin there. Hannibal rubbed his hand gently over Will’s belly, still slightly rounded and tight from their overindulgent dinner and Will arched up to meet him with a soft moan.

“I like you like this,” Hannibal sighed, drawing his fingers over the brutal silvery scar that nearly bisected Will’s abdomen and along the soft line of dark hair trailing down under his navel. “Full and happy and compliant.”

Will smiled bitterly and huffed. “Compliant?”

“Pliable,” Hannibal amended smoothly, bending to press a brief kiss to Will’s slanted mouth. “Yielding.” Another glancing kiss. “Soft and sweet.” The delicate slide of his tongue over Will’s lips.

“ _Sweet_ now?”

Hannibal grinned. “Relatively sweet.”

He cupped his strong hands over the curves of Will’s biceps, his shoulders, his pectorals. Pressing down into each muscle group to relax it. He slid back a little and ground the heels of his hands into the tops of Will’s thighs and then dug his fingers into his hips to release the IT band.

Will giggled and bucked under Hannibal, nearly throwing him off.

“Ticklish?” Hannibal asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes!” Will cried, trying to twist away again. “It’s worse…worse when I’m drunk.” He giggled and moaned as Hannibal pressed hard into the deep muscles to loosen them.

“You could try doing some of your physical therapy. That might give you some relief from this tension.”

Will ignored the mild habitual nagging, humming in enjoyment when Hannibal finally stopped digging into his muscles and started caressing him more gently. Bending over him to chase the path of his fingers with soft open kisses. Will reached up to run his hands through Hannibal's hair.

Hannibal drew his hands down firmly over Will’s flushed chest. Rubbing harder across his nipples. Watching the tender flesh pebble at his touch. Absorbing Will’s whimpering little responses. Plucking at Will’s nipples until they stiffened, but not quite closing his fingers around them. Not pinching and twisting and hurting. Not yet.

“Please,” Will whispered, writhing restlessly. His cock curved up hard against his belly, flushed dark and leaking, and he put his hands back on Hannibal’s thighs, gripping them to steady himself. “Do it.”

Hannibal leaned in and put his mouth against Will’s neck. Flicked his tongue behind his ear. “Do what?”

Will groaned and thrashed under him. He couldn’t quite bring himself to answer, flashing Hannibal a beseeching look instead.

Hannibal shook his head with amusement and put one hand over Will’s eyes so that Will could not see him watching. “Do what?” he repeated.

“Hurt them,“ Will moaned immediately.

“Like this?” Hannibal asked, closing his fingers a little tighter and pulling.

“Yes,” Will panted. “But harder. You can go harder than that.”

Will floated in the dark behind his covered eyes, teetering between pleasure and pain, as Hannibal pinched and twisted harder, then smoothed away the spiky sting with firm following pressure. Layering lighter caresses over that. A quick flicker of his warm wet tongue followed by sharp and bruising little bites. Will dug his fingertips into the thick muscle of Hannibal’s thighs as he arched up, head tipped back, wanting, wanting _so much_.

Hannibal bit hard again. Closed his teeth in Will’s flesh and held there until Will was growling low in his chest, clawing at Hannibal's thighs and jerking away. Then Hannibal relented and put his hands on either side of Will’s shoulders and leaned in to kiss him.

Will licked his lips and sighed luxuriously at the sudden sweet press of Hannibal’s mouth to his. ”Yeah.”

“Good?” Hannibal murmured.

Will nodded slightly and draped his arms around Hannibal's neck. “Yeah. Kiss me again.”

Hannibal's lips quirked in a smug smile and he slid his tongue into Will’s giving mouth. As Will opened to him, Hannibal pressed his fingers against one of the deepest bitemarks on his chest, already beginning to go purple. Hannibal caught Will’s mewling little complaint in his mouth and felt it go shivering through his body. Will was pinned beneath Hannibal's kiss and the merciless press of his fingertips against the bite, twisting towards him and away with that pleasant conflicting urge to beg for more/no more. It had long been one of his keenest pleasures, Hannibal thought, giving Will everything he wanted and more so he could hold him suffering just on the edge of undone. He pulled back finally and kissed one side of Will’s bared throat, then the other. The hollow at the base of his neck. The points of his shoulders. Then he pushed slightly on one hip.

“Turn over,” he encouraged softly.

Will sighed and did as Hannibal said, licking over his kiss-swollen lips, resting his head on his crossed arms with a small anticipatory smile. Hannibal rubbed Will’s shoulders, tracing the constellation of freckles scattered over his tan skin, then moved down his back. Gentle at first, listening again for injury, then harder.

Hannibal set the heels of his hands against the lean dense muscles in Will’s back and leaned his weight into them. Will groaned as Hannibal pressed down and then pushed up and out, over and over, lengthening the muscle, working out the kinks. It was intense but soothing, hypnotic. When Hannibal was satisfied with the effect of his work, he gentled his touch, stroking Will’s body firmly from shoulders to waist, keeping his muscles warm and pliant.

Will felt a sort of unbearable lightness, a soaring giddiness as the last of the tension drained away and was replaced by tingling pleasure. He sprawled on his belly, relaxed and content and suffused with deep aching warmth. Sweat dotted his brow, the back of his neck. He pressed his cock down against the bed for the sharp sparking pleasure of it then tilted his hips back and shifted to spread his legs. Thinking momentarily of delirious Florence and the overwhelming feel of Hannibal inside him. It had been years. Years and years since he’d felt that peculiar destabilizing pleasure.

Hannibal saw his invitation and bent to kiss the base of his spine, also thinking of Florence. Of bone saws and first kisses. Of his Will, lovely and delirious on a morphine cocktail, alternately commanding that Hannibal strip off and begging for his touch, his mouth, his cock.

Hannibal sat back on his heels, wrapped his fingers around Will’s bony hips, and pulled up until Will’s back bent in a slight supple curve. Hannibal swept his hands over Will’s warm flushed skin and Will moaned, feeling Hannibal’s cock pressing stiff and hot against the curve of his ass.

“Is this hurting your back?”

“No actually. It feels…. good.” Will slid his arms out straight, pulled his knees further under him, and stretched like a cat, unconscious of the picture he made. “It helps.”

Hannibal’s breath snagged in his throat as Will unintentionally presented himself. He caught Will’s hips before he could lower them again and hauled him back firmly. Then he stroked one hand along Will’s spine to encourage a deeper arch.

“Spread a little more for me, _caro_ ,” he whispered against Will’s back, sliding his hands up between Will’s slightly parted thighs and pushing them open. “A little more. That’s good.” He braced Will’s legs open with his knees and set his hands on his slender hips. “Perfect, Will. That’s so good.”

Will shuddered at the sudden vulnerability of his position, the pressure of Hannibal holding his legs open, the surfeit of gentle praise. He shifted as though he would pull away, but found himself sort of, stuck, between Hannibal’s hands on his hips and his knees between his thighs.

Hannibal looked down at him, wondering how far Will would let him push this. How long he would tolerate this deeply submissive, traditionally feminine posture, given the events of the evening.

“How do you feel, Will?” he asked curiously, rubbing soothing little circles into the hollows of his hips.

Will swallowed hard. “I don’t know. It feels good I think. Surprisingly good. I feel…” ( _safe held)_ He trailed off, burying his face in the pillow.

Hannibal waited until Will had turned his face to the side again then he pressed one hand gently and firmly to the back of his neck up under the spill of his unruly hair. With the other hand he stroked Will’s trembling flanks. Calming, coaxing.

“And now?” Hannibal asked. “How do you feel now?”

Will licked his lips, tried to shift out of Hannibal’s grip, couldn’t. “Yeah. Still good. I feel…” ( _protected wanted_ )

Hannibal closed his fingers brief and tight in Will's hair then let go again, stroking the back of his neck with his thumb, looking down at him with vast and dreadful affection. ( _mine)_

Yours, Will agreed in the depths of his mind. “I…I feel…” ( _cherished valuable fragile_ )…

…( _delicate a cherished thing a valuable thing_ )

( _claimed)(accepted)…._

…( _possessed)(owned)_

Will was tipsy, flushed with heat, dizzy with lust. Helplessly, he remembered being where Hannibal was now. Looking down at Molly- spread for him, just like this. Presenting. Inviting. Making a gift of her body. That primal sense of ownership he'd felt. The twin urges to ravish and to protect. What was he doing? Did he want to signal these things to Hannibal? His blood fizzed in his ears. It was so hard to concentrate on what he _should_ want.

Hannibal watched, fascinated as always, as Will wrestled with himself. He took his hand off the back of Will’s neck and was rewarded with the fleeting look of loss and disappointment he’d anticipated. He stroked his hands down Will’s body and pulled his hips back hard, his fingers bruising, letting Will feel the press of his stiff cock against his ass again. Then Hannibal spread his knees a little, forcing Will’s quaking legs wider.

“Good,” Hannibal praised him again. He ran one finger along the braille of Will’s spine, down between his cheeks, and over his sensitive opening. Feeling the tight muscle clench and shiver in response to the glancing caress. “So pretty.”

“Pretty,” Will grumbled under his breath.

“Very pretty,” Hannibal persisted, putting a gentle hand back on Will’s neck, pinning him, grounding him.

Will groaned deep in his chest. He could feel the inquisition of Hannibal's curiosity. Searching for his boundaries and pushing, pushing. He bit his lip, considering. Then, hesitantly, he wrapped his arms around the pillow and pressed his chest flat to the bed, lifting his hips even further.

A long pause followed as Hannibal looked him over in surprised appreciation, taking in the graceful arch of his back, the curve of his hip, his bottom. He considered whether he should twist Will's wrists up behind his back as well or take hold of his hair and bare his throat. Whether Will would want that or hate it or ( _even better_ ) both. Will waited, panting. Waited for Hannibal to do...something. Finally, feeling foolish and vulnerable, he jerked in Hannibal’s grip as though he would get up and turn over, put an end to this stupid game.

“No. No,” Hannibal said quickly as Will’s distress interrupted his dreamy admiration. “Stay,” he encouraged, squeezing the back of Will’s neck subtly.

Will shifted fractiously, making an unhappy, uncertain noise in the back of his throat.

“Stay, _mylimasis_ ,” Hannibal crooned softly to him. “For me. You look so pretty like this. So lovely and open.”

Will squirmed as Hannibal pressed his fingers back between his cheeks, but stayed where he was.

“I’m going to get you all wet,” Hannibal whispered, rubbing the pads of his fingers over Will's hole. His choice of words precise and deliberate. “Slick and slippery. Push my fingers inside. Open you up. That’s what you want, isn’t it?“

Will’s breath stuttered and he nodded, whiskered cheek rasping against the cool cotton pillowcase.

“Tell me, Will.”

“Yeah,” Will whispered hoarsely. “I want that.”

Hannibal squeezed the back of his neck again, holding him down just a little more firmly. “If I move my hand, can you stay just like this? Bent and spread for me?”

Will gulped and flushed hot then nodded again.

“What a sweet thing you are,” Hannibal smiled.

Will shook his head, pleased and embarrassed.

“Yes,” Hannibal insisted, sliding his hands along Will’s soft inner thighs just to feel the muscles shake. “Yes.”

Hannibal reached for the little glass bottle of lubricant at his side. He rolled it between his hands to warm it up. Will shivered in anticipation at the tinny sound of metal on glass as Hannibal unscrewed the top. Then he gasped, startled, as Hannibal poured a thin glimmering stream of the slick liquid between his cheeks.

Hannibal set the bottle aside. Slid his fingertips through the mess of slippery fluid and pressed them hard against Will’s wet opening. Just for the pressure of it, the reassuring heaviness. He sighed as he slipped one finger in. “Oh, you’re so hot inside, Will.”

Will groaned and shifted his hips languidly, feeling his body waking to the new sensation. “I haven’t,” he whispered almost to himself as Hannibal gently pressed another finger into him. “I haven’t…since you. Not since you… I thought about asking…but I knew I would think about you if she did and … I didn’t want to think about you and her at the same time…”

Although Will couldn’t really see him over his shoulder, Hannibal nodded reassuringly, as though they were in session. “And how do you feel now?”

“Good. I feel ( _safe wanted open_ ) good.” He paused, blushing again. ”Could you…?”

Hannibal smiled smugly, fairly certain what Will wanted from the hesitation in his voice. He pressed one hand flat between Will’s shoulders and leaned his weight into it slightly. “How’s that? Better?”

“Mmm hmm,” Will murmured.

“Good.”

Hannibal twisted his other hand palm down and stroked the tips of his fingers over the sensitive little bundle of nerves inside until Will was keening and rocking his hips back to take Hannibal’s fingers deeper.

“Is it good, _cheri_?” Hannibal asked, thinking of Étienne for a brief shimmering moment. “Having my fingers up inside?”

Will’s throat clicked as he swallowed. There was something strange in Hannibal’s voice…something. But it felt so good. Too good to analyze.

“Yes,” he sighed.

“Do you want more?”

“Yes.”

Hannibal withdrew slowly then took his cock in his hand and rubbed the broad tip back and forth against Will’s slick hole.

“You’re so hot. So wet for me.”

Will squirmed, whimpering and conflicted. Thinking of Molly again. Knowing Hannibal was speaking to him, _had been_ speaking to him for some time, as he might have spoken to Alana.

“Please,” he pleaded anyway, unable to deny himself. He pressed his burning cheek against the cool feather pillow. “I’m ready. I’m so ready.”

Hannibal contemplated letting it go at that, pressing inside, satisfying them both, but he held off. There was more to draw out here, he thought. “Tell me, Will.”

Will flushed in lust and shame, thinking of what he liked to hear, what he wanted to say. He pressed his forehead to his crumpled pillow and tilted his hips back again. “I want you…Hannibal. I want to feel your cock inside me.” He shivered and exhaled hard. “Fill me up and fuck me…”

"Good," Hannibal praised him. "That’s so good." He stretched feline over Will’s back, held his wet cock against Will’s opening and pressed deep in one slick hot slide. He threw his head back as the heat of it surrounded him, overwhelmed him. “Oh, Will.”

Will groaned as Hannibal thrust in and he felt his body yield all at once. There was that destabilizing feeling of too big too deep too much. Too much. The feeling that his body would split and his heart would crack and everything he was would come spilling out and then everyone would _know._ ( _who’s everyone?_ ) Hannibal would know. ( _know what?_ ) What damage was there in him, what darkness that Hannibal did not already know ( _and desire above all things_ )? He could feel Hannibal moving inside him, firm but gentle, so gentle. As if waiting for him to come back to himself, to catch up. The meditative rocking of Hannibal’s hips matching the short pull and release of their synced breathing. The slick press all the way in, the thrust held quivering at its deepest point, and then the slide back, the brief kiss of Hannibal’s cock against the sweet spot. Over and over. Will felt the stretch and burn ease and become need and want.

 “I want…”

“…yes. Anything.” ( _anything_ _always_ )

“More,” Will murmured, pushing back against Hannibal. “I want more. Oh. Please.”

“Of course you do,” Hannibal whispered. “Pretty little thing.”

Hannibal shifted them slightly until his cock was rubbing consistently over Will's prostate with every thrust then snapped his hips forward and set a harder rhythm at Will’s urging. Will could feel Hannibal's powerful hands gently stroking his cheek, his hair, his back as he drove into him.The combination of rough and tender undid him utterly and he wrapped his arms around the pillow and sobbed in agonized pleasure as Hannibal fucked him.

Hannibal's pace faltered in his concern. He combed his hand through Will’s curls and swept his fingertip along his sparkling lashes. “Will?”

“Don’t stop,” Will begged, tears flowing over his cheeks.

His eyes were screwed up tight as if to keep Hannibal from seeing the images of destruction and betrayal and salvation flowing behind them. Their old life, hovering in the shadows. And the man from the bridge, the knife in the kitchen, the fall, the kiss. ( _fill me up and fuck me so i forget_ )

“I’m ok," Will said hoarsely. "It’s still good. Oh, it’s so good.”

The knowledge that Will was still with him in this moment, was still enjoying it, gave Hannibal a terrifying measure of permission to simply revel in having him like this- spread open beneath him and sobbing his heart out. ( _beautiful will_ ) So like a saint in his suffering.

Hannibal thrust into him firmly again and again and curved his arm around Will’s hip to stroke his throbbing cock in time.

“Oh god,” Will moaned at the sweet spiraling pleasure. “Yeah. Just like that. Make me come. Please.” ( _fill me up and fuck me so i forget_ )

Hannibal could feel Will’s body shaking around him with anguish and lust. “My beautiful boy,” he sighed.

Will’s body clenched helplessly around Hannibal’s cock at that and he curled in on himself nearly convulsing as he came in Hannibal’s hand. Hannibal wrapped an arm around his hips to hold him up and followed quickly after, giving in to the rhythmic contractions of Will’s body.

Hannibal leaned against Will's back, panting and holding him tight, feeling the last pulsing waves of pleasure ripple through Will's body and then his own. When Will finally sagged in his arms, Hannibal pulled out slowly and helped him lie flat. “Here. Stretch out,” he said, rubbing Will's back tenderly. “Easy now.”

Will curled up on his side, wiping the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

Hannibal curled up behind him and held him close, offering the warmth and comfort of his body. “You have nothing to apologize for, Will.” Hannibal thought of the man under the bridge. “ _I_ should apologize… if I hurt you…”

Will took his hand and pulled him closer, wriggling until their bodies fit. “You didn’t hurt me. It was good." _Intimate_ , he wanted to say _intimate,_ but that was silly, wasn't it? Of course it was intimate. "Really good," he said instead. "Amazing."

Hannibal was aware that Will had misunderstood what was trying to apologize for, but he let it be. Turned to rest his cheek against Will's shoulder. 

Will dozed for a time in Hannibal's embrace then sat up wearily and padded to the bathroom to clean up. When he was done washing, he leaned against the sink, eyes slitted against the harsh overhead light, and brushed his teeth. Cupped his hands under the faucet and drank. Splashed water on his face. Wandered back into the bedroom and flopped heavily across the bed.

Hannibal followed after Will was done, yawning and stretching unselfconsciously as he walked towards the bathroom. Will lay on his side in the big feather bed and watched him go, sleepily admiring the line of his body in the dim light. When Hannibal returned, he clicked the light off and stretched out on his back, pulling the light goosedown comforter over them. Will considered for a moment then shifted to put his head on Hannibal's chest. Hannibal's arm came up around his shoulder and pulled him closer. Will ran his fingers idly through the thick curling hair on Hannibal's chest, feeling the rumbling vibration under his cheek as Hannibal sighed in drowsy pleasure and acknowledgment.

Eventually, Will felt Hannibal's breathing go slow and even as he drifted off, his fingers combing through Will's hair. Will lay in the dark, enveloped in the white noise of Hannibal's heartbeat and the distant pounding surf. He was sated and comfortable, pleasantly sore and relaxed, but still sleep eluded him.


	36. Chapter 36

It was two a.m. Will sat at the teak table on the balcony while Hannibal slept. He looked out at the black waves, absently caressing the small bites and bruises dappling his chest and the base of his throat, pink and purple layered over older marks already fading to yellow like autumn leaves. His fingers skated across the deepest of them, still showing the faint impression of Hannibal's teeth, and he felt a shivering tingle run through him, like tiny chimes in high wind. 

He tipped the rest of a small bottle of vodka from the villa's little kitchen into a water glass and downed it. He felt restless and frustrated and overtired. He should be asleep. By rights he should have dozed off immediately in the afterglow, but something was itching at him.

Will listened to the crash of the surf and silently contemplated the image of Hannibal turning balletically, palming the drunk man’s head and cracking it against the stone wall. It was expert. Effortless. And…familiar. Somehow familiar. Why was that?

Cut to black, he thought vaguely as he rolled the water glass in his palms. Big fat cut to black. Then he heard Hannibal saying “everything else you know about that night is true.” He walked back into the bedroom and looked down at Hannibal sleeping peacefully. Too worn out or too trusting now to stir when Will stood over him. His beautiful face serene as a Russian icon in the faint glow of the moon.

You are the father of lies, Will thought. Then he slid into the lush soft bed and curled around him, stealing some of his warmth. Hoping to share just a little of his perpetual unconcerned ease.

Hours later, Will finally slept, but fitfully. Tormented by twisting dreams.

He and Hannibal were standing at the edge of the Dragon’s cliff. Below were all the kingdoms of the world rising in flickering spires from the oily surface of the roiling Atlantic. Behind them and above, the vast midnight beauty of the night sky. Burning stars and flaring Northern lights. The sliver moon barely visible, low on the horizon.

Hannibal stretched out his arm and swept it across the wide vista. “I would give you all this domain and its glory…”

“…if I would but fall down and worship you?” Will finished, hands fisted in the rough pockets of his pale tunic as though he was afraid of what they might reach for.

Hannibal looked at him for a long moment, his eyes liquid black, his expression soft and pitying. “No. You still don’t understand.” Then he knelt deliberately at Will’s feet and gazed up, folding the wavering winged edges of his dark coat around him. 

Will looked down at him like a blank-eyed stone idol.

“I would give you everything, anything…” Hannibal continued.

Will’s cynical grin sliced across his pale marble face like one more scar. “You would give me the dark.”

Hannibal held his gaze. “I would give you the light, if only you wanted it.”

Will tossed unhappily, tangled in the silky cotton sheets. In the distance, he vaguely felt Hannibal pull him closer in his sleep and then the dream shifted.

He was kneeling in a river and the water was flowing around him and Hannibal was pouring the water over his head from a copper bowl. “…of any tree in the Garden save this one you may eat,” he heard Hannibal saying. As the stream of sunlit water cascaded over his ears and into his upturned mouth he coughed and coughed and slid sideways, terrified, into the frantic clutch of the storm.

Deadly frigid waves crashed over them, inundating their creaking shuddering little ship. He could hear Hannibal choking and sputtering, fighting to breathe. Felt his fingers digging into Hannibal’s wet forearms. Pulling and slipping. Slipping. Slipping. The sea reaching up for them, black and jealous.

In their bed, Will curved forward around his bare knees and put his hands over his ears. “No,” he whispered faintly. “No.”

Prompted, his mind cast him helplessly further back. Further. To the feeling of plummeting from a great height, the cold rush of air stealing the breath from his bruised lungs, blood pouring sickeningly down his throat from his wounded face. The righteous burst of pain and fear and love. Hannibal wrapping him in his arms, cradling the back of his head, turning them feet down mid-fall.

Then the choppy frothing surface of the North Atlantic shattering around them, spiking their bodies with a million tiny shards of glass. Cracking ribs and tearing tendons. Burning salt water forced into his mouth through the terrible open slash in his cheek. The white-capped waves rolling them towards the bleak rocks. Hannibal’s hand grabbing his tattered collar weakly then sliding off.

“No,” he moaned in his sleep. “No.”

“Will?” Hannibal called sleepily, shaking his shoulder. “Will!”

Will woke only slightly- mired still in tarry sleep- his eyes rolling in panic, straining to see past the dream into the dark of their room. Then he turned thoughtlessly onto his side and tucked his head under Hannibal’s chin, curling tightly into his warm body like a frightened child.

Hannibal looked down at him with surprise then gathered him up in his arms as well as he could and stroked his shivering back gently.

“It’s all right, Will,” he said hesitantly, wanting only that Will’s pain should stop, but feeling long unaccustomed to offering genuine comfort. “Shh shh,” he murmured, running one hand soothingly through Will’s damp hair.

As he held Will to him, he began to hum something soft and low under his breath. A sweet and haunting song so long disused it was almost forgotten. The melody fading and folded around fragmented memories: delicate petals scattered red on the gauzy white curtain shrouding Mischa’s body; the crackling fire; the anguished sobbing funeral feast.

“Sounds like a lullaby,” Will whispered, half asleep.

“Yes,” Hannibal said drowsily, kissing the top of his head. “Hush now. I have you. You’re safe. Safe, _mažylis_.”


	37. Chapter 37

They took breakfast on the balcony. Boilâe fish and Johnny cake. Hannibal read the local paper that had been delivered with their meal. There was no mention yet of any missing man. Will watched the mesmerizing roll of the waves in the harbor. Stretched extravagantly then slouched back into the comfortable chair and stifled a yawn with the back of his hand. Hannibal poured them each another cup of coffee. When he lifted the steel carafe, the sleeves of his robe fell back revealing the fading marks of Will’s desperate fingers around his forearms, a souvenir of the storm.

“I don’t think you slept well, Will,” Hannibal said. “It seemed like you were having a nightmare. Do you remember what you were dreaming about?”

Will stood up with his coffee and walked to the balcony railing. His back to Hannibal. Facing the sun-shadowed sea. He contemplated a disjointed shuffle of dark images. “The fall,” he said finally.

He turned halfway toward the table again and leaned against the corner where the railing met the wall, trying for casual and almost making it. “What do you remember about it?“

“Not much, I’m happy to say.” ( _soaringfallingchokingcold_ )( _cold_ ) “Trauma often interrupts the transfer of short-term to long-term memory. _”_

Will gave him a level look, watching the little tells only he could see. All but non-existent. The minutest twitch at the corner of Hannibal’s mouth. The barest narrowing of his eyes. ( _you’re lying. why?_ )

“The mind erases,” Hannibal continued. ( _drowningdrowning_ ) "Forgetfulness promotes a healthy mind.” ( _painchokingdeathdeath_ )( _will_ )

Hannibal suddenly found it slightly hard to breathe. He coughed into his hand and looked down, momentarily surprised by the absence of gushing seawater. Then he smiled sharply and shifted the subject.  

“But I remember very well before that. I remember you. Your hands glistening black in the moonlight. Your mouth running with blood.” Hannibal licked his lips and continued slowly, lingering over the words, letting them bloom hot and dark. “Your teeth. Your blade.” ( _and_ _love love_ )

Will caught his look of pure adoration and shivered with some sick echo of excitement and pride. He wrapped an arm around himself in dismay and looked away.  ( _i will never kill with you again_ )

Hannibal watched him with a sharp sort of aching tenderness. ( _you won’t say no forever_ )

After breakfast, Will threw on the extra set of clothes Hannibal had packed for him. He planned to walk down to the marina to start working on the ship, to see if he could find the kid he’d paid to hook him up with a good local mechanic. He encouraged Hannibal to stay at the villa and read. Hannibal would be bored watching him work on the boat, Will thought, and they needed some space anyway.

He returned to the balcony just before he left, hovering awkwardly in the doorway until Hannibal looked up curiously from his paper. Will blushed and darted forward to kiss him on the cheek then turned to head out. Hannibal blinked rapidly in surprise and smiled to himself.

“See you in a bit,” Will called over his shoulder.

He walked out of the villa into the strong tropical sun and strolled down the boardwalk towards his ship. He raised a hand to the harbormaster checking in a small yacht two slips down and stepped on board the Eurybiê. He ran his hand over the brightwork and patted the helm affectionately, happy to be back.

The sun beat down as Will carted his tools up onto the deck so he could work on the broken autopilot motor. He brought several bottles of water up from the galley and unfurled the mainsail to give himself some protection from the glare then he started dismantling the motor. Despite the little triangle of shade, Will’s skin started to go pink as he worked, sweat trickling over his forehead and down the collar of his t-shirt. He poured the last of his water over his head to cool off and was just thinking about going below for more when he heard a high childish voice calling him.

“Mr. Eli! Hey, Mr. Eli!”

Will pushed his sweaty hair out of his eyes and looked up to see the harbormaster’s son standing at the edge of the dock. “Hey, kiddo.”

“I was here super early, Mr. Eli, like you say, but you were not here.” The boy looked the Eurybiê over. “Man! I like your boat!”

Will squinted into the sun. “It’s Dario, right? You want to come aboard? Tell me about your mechanic?”

“Yeah!” The boy hesitated. “Can I bring Rex on too, Mr. Eli?”

Will shaded his eyes and caught sight of the scruffy mutt sitting at boy’s feet, looking up at him adoringly.

“That your dog?”

“Nah. My mom’s allergic. He’s my aunt Angie’s dog. She lets me play with him whenever I want. She says you can come to her shop anytime. She might have your parts.”

“Angie’s your boat mechanic?”

“Yep. She’s awesome.”

Will stood up and dusted his hands on his shorts. “Can you tell me how to get there?”

“I can take you. She’s not far. Maybe a mile. We could ride. You gotta a bike, Mr. Eli?”

Will shook his head, grinning.

Dario shrugged. “S’ok. We can walk. Can I leave my bike here though?”

“Yeah. Hang on a sec.”

Will penned a note for Hannibal in case he came looking. _Gone to boat mechanic,_ it read. _Back soon_. He had a strong sudden urge to finish it with something else, something reassuring. Before he could overthink it, he sketched two quick hatches at the bottom. Held one way, they might be a sloppy scratched W. Held another, two Xs. He stuck the note over a cleat on the mast then hopped onto the dock.

He looked from Dario to Rex and back with a wide smile. Rex wagged his tail expectantly.

“You can pet him,” Dario said. “He’s real friendly. He just jumps on people sometimes though.”

Will squatted down, holding his hand out. He clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Here, boy.”

Rex came bounding over and stuck his cold nose into Will’s palm. Will’s broad smile slipped and for a moment he was overcome with a wave of loss. He felt faint, as though his heart had stopped beating. He ducked his head and took a deep gulping breath, choking back the long sob that threatened.

He took the dog’s head in his hands and scratched roughly behind his ears. “Good boy, Rex. Good dog.”

Rex wagged his tail and woofed softly as if in total agreement then trotted back to Dario and sat at his feet, panting and grinning, tail banging against the wooden dock.

Will stood up and wiped a hand over his eyes, exceptionally relieved to find them dry. He helped Dario put his bike on the deck of his ship for safekeeping then they headed off down the boardwalk, the long row of vacation villas at their back, Rex trotting alongside them.

The boardwalk ended at the main paved road and they turned left onto it, walking away from the marina.

Dario looked up at him. “This road’s boring. You wanna take a shortcut, Mr. Eli?”

“Just Eli, kid,” Will said, slouching slightly and shoving his hands in his pockets, unconsciously beginning to adopt the cadence of Dario’s speech, the boyish rhythm of his walk. “You tell me where we’re going and I’ll follow; this is your town.”

“Cool!”

Dario made a quick buttonhook off the main road and through a narrow opening into a stand of ironwood trees. It was cool under the canopy. Green shadowed and sweet smelling. The dirt path they were following wasn’t a road. It wasn’t even really a path. More like a bike track. A kid track, Will thought with a smile, thinking about hiking with the Boy Scouts, riding bikes with Annie and Meg.

Dario hummed under his breath and swung his arms wide for the sheer pleasure of it. His red and gold Ironman t-shirt glowed like neon in the gauzy green light. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a battered packet of Juicy Fruit gum with one creased piece left. He ripped it in two and offered half to Will.

Will smiled and held his hand up. “You keep it, kiddo.”

“Nah. You can have this half, Mr. Eli. Eli I mean.”

Will looked down into the boy’s earnest face. “Ok. Ok. Thanks.”

Dario unwrapped his piece and popped it into his mouth. He rolled his shoulders, pleased. “No doubt.”

The boy picked up a stick from the side of the path and threw it for Rex. Rex ran after it happily and brought it back, dropping it at Dario’s feet. Over and over as they walked. The last time, Rex didn’t come back with it. They could hear him rooting around in the underbrush.

“Rex!” Dario called. “Come back!”

Nothing.

“Aw, Rex!” He glanced up at Will quickly and then away as though embarrassed by Rex’s behavior. “Come on! Come on, boy!” He made a breathy fluting attempt to whistle for the dog that sounded something like a morning dove with a sore throat.

Will grinned.

“He usually listens,” Dario said with a frustrated huff.

“Not always?”

The boy scuffed the ground with the toe of his grimy grey Converse. “Yeah, not always. I guess he’s bad sometimes.”

Will laughed. “He’s not bad. It’s just because you’re not the leader. You’re… you’re more like his brother. He listens to you when he feels like it.”

“He always listens to Angie,” the boy said.

Will nodded. “That’s probably because Angie’s in charge. She’s the pack leader.”

“Pack leader,” the boy mumbled, testing the idea.

Will nodded again then clapped his hand sharply against his thigh. "Rex!” he called in a big stern voice. “Come on back!”

Rex came charging out of the undergrowth, wagging his tail and covered in leaves and muck. He dropped a new stick at Will’s feet and looked up at him hopefully.

“Sit,” Will ordered, pointing at the ground.

Rex sat, tongue lolling, grinning.

“Heeey… What are you like the dog whisperer or somethin?”

“I’m the pack leader,” Will said with a bittersweet broken smile. “For right now anyway.”

He hurled the stick for the dog who took off into the woods. Then he wiped his dirty hands on his shorts and stuck them back in his pockets. He thought about Winston, and Buster, and the rest of the boys, hoping they were all right, wondering if Molly and Walter were still taking care of them.

For a little while they walked on in silence. Relative silence. Dario had resumed humming under his breath. From time to time, he would whack violently at the undergrowth with another stick, giving it a machete sound effect. Will tipped his head back to see a pair of kingfishers fly over, breaking up the checkerboard of green leaves and clear blue sky. Wispy white clouds streamed by overhead pushed by a light breeze that carried the smell of salt and seaweed.

“Hey, mister?”

“Eli.”

“Yeah Eli. Anyways, Eli?”

“Hmm?”

“What are you doing here? You on vacation or somethin?”

( _or something_ ) “Yeah. I’m taking a trip through the Bahamas with a school friend.”

“What school?”

“University in Zürich.”

“Where’s that?”

“That’s in Switzerland.”

The boy nodded and smacked a long trailing vine with his stick. Will looked over at him.

“You know where Switzerland is?”

“Nah.”

“It’s in Europe. You know where Europe is?”

“Um, duh. Everyone knows Europe.”

Will smiled again. The lies came easily. Too easily. More like an alternate timeline than outright falsehoods. Will could feel the life he was describing dogging him like a shadow sewn to his heels. ( _where does the difference between the past and the future come from_ )

Rex bounded up again with another new stick and Will chuckled, bending to scratch him behind the ears. Dario galloped away down the path flogging an imaginary horse with his stick and then came galloping back.

“Do you have a job?” the boy asked as he trotted up.

“You ask a lot of questions."

“Yeah Angie says that too. And my mom. And Mrs. Hill at school.” Dario paused then continued undaunted. “So what job do you have?”

“I’m a psychologist.” Will looked at Dario’s blank expression. “A mind doctor.”

The boy’s face lit up. “No way! Ok what am I thinking _right now_?” He put his fingers to his temples and screwed up his face, one eye half open

Will laughed. “A mind _doctor_. Not a mind reader.”

He briefly considered doing his little party trick for Dario then. Telling the boy all about himself, about the things he wanted most- a little brother, a best friend, more time with his father- desires that Will could read clearly in all the things the boy hadn’t said, in the fact that he was here with Will rather than off playing with his friends. But he thought better of it. He didn’t want to frighten the boy and he didn’t want to be remembered. Certainly not as a mind reading dog whisperer with a boat and a mysterious friend. Instead, Will asked the boy about school and they walked on, throwing the stick for the dog, chattering about nothing remarkable.

Will found that the more he played Eli, the more he added to his profile, the more he liked him. Eli made friends easily, where Will did not. Eli had Will’s penetrating insight, but he had never used it to channel the Angelmaker’s fear and trembling, had never watched himself open a dead man’s throat with the neck of a cello. He had never dismembered, and displayed, and devoured one of Lecter’s lost boys. Eli was probably what people would call “one of the good guys.”

Rex was aware that they were approaching Angie’s shop before Will or Dario were. He sat down abruptly in the middle of the path, dropped his stick, barked twice, and took off running.  Will and the boy followed along behind him. As they approached the end of the path, they began to hear the faint crackling sound of a radio tuned to a discussion of Nassau’s chances in the Cricket World Cup.

Their path emptied out behind a small tin-roofed building and joined a shallower track in the tall grass that meandered towards the front. Will and Dario followed the faint trail as it snaked around piles of stacked tires, old engines, a sailboat without a mast sitting in a patch of weeds, a busted up ’67 Chevy that might have been truly orange once, but was just rusty now.

Will could hear crickets calling from the long grass and he was struck with a feeling of _deja vu_ so profound it took his breath away. For a quick second he fully expected his father to come around the corner, wiping his hands on his coveralls. Creased face and grizzled grin, eyes shaded by the tattered brim of a Saints ballcap.

In the dooryard of the repair shop there was a wiry young woman kneeling with her back to them, petting Rex and scolding him fondly. There was a stained red handkerchief stuck in the back pocket of her dirty jeans. The bright midday sun shining through the trees overhead turned the cloud of her tightly curled hair into deep gold nimbus. Next to her was a long work table holding a small disassembled boat motor.

“Angie!” Dario called and started running. Angie looked up from where she was petting Rex and stood just in time to catch Dario before he knocked her over.

“What da wybe is, little man?”

“Een nothin. I brought the guy who needs the parts.”

“You are sweaty!” she exclaimed, smoothing Dario’s curly hair back. “Did you run all the way here?”

“Nah. Not all the way. Can I have a sweet?”

“Whatcha dad say about it?”

“He say I can have one if you say.”

Angie gave the boy a long look of fake suspicion then relented. “Ok. In the cooler. Bring one for me too. And one for…” She looked at Will expectantly as Dario took off towards the porch that encircled her shop.

“Elliot Mantle,” Will said, putting his hand out. “You can call me Eli. Most people do.”

Angie smiled broadly and clasped his calloused hand hard in her grease-stained ones. “Nice to meet you, Eli.”

Dario came back with three bottles of Orange Crush that were still raining slivers of ice from the cooler and handed them around. Will didn’t realize how thirsty he was until he felt the cold condensation rolling down the bottle’s grooved glass sides.

He held the bottle briefly to his pink cheeks and then his throat before looking for his bottle-opener. He patted his front and back pockets then realized the opener was probably still on his old key ring, somewhere at the bottom of the North Atlantic. Angie smiled at him and popped the top with her own churchkey.

Will lifted his bottle to her in thanks and tipped it to his lips. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had an orange soda. It tasted like summer. He drank half of it in one go and stifled a burp with his hand.

“I can do better than that!” Dario bragged. He chugged his soda and let out a long belch then flung his arms out and bowed, as if inviting applause.

“Oh charming,” Angie said.

Will shook his head. “Excuse me,” he said with a grin.

Angie waved him off. “S’fine.” Then she turned to Dario. “Say excuse me! Ya show sef.”

“Scuuuuse me, auntie.”

“Go on play with Rex now. Let the grown folks talk.”

“So, Eli,” Angie said, turning to Will. “Dario says you were caught in a storm? Ship took some damage?”

Will set his empty bottle on a tree stump at his knee and explained the damage to the autopilot, the windvane, the missing windex. As he had subconsciously adopted Dario’s speech patterns, he now adopted some of Angie’s. This time he was aware he was doing it, but was still unable to stop.

Angie nodded as he talked, looking at the bruises on his face, her expression solemn. “Bey sounds like a rough go.”

Will rubbed a hand across his mouth thinking about cold waves, about pain and panic.

“Yeah, it was scary there for a minute. But we made it. And it brought us here anyway, to this beautiful place.”

“So,” Angie smiled at him, “es not all bad.”

Will pushed his hair behind his ears and returned her open smile. “Definitely not all bad.”

“Well, come on in the shop and we’ll see if I have your parts.”


	38. Chapter 38

Hannibal went down to Eurybiê before noon, ostensibly for another change of clothes, but actually thinking he might check on Will’s progress with the motor. He was surprised to find himself somewhat at loose ends without Will nearby. It was just habit, he reasoned as he walked down to the marina, squinting in the bright late morning sun. Being cooped up together in the ship for weeks had fostered it. That was all.

On deck, he found Will’s note spiked to the cleat of the mast. _Gone to boat mechanic,_ it read. _Back soon_. Then _XX_. Or was it a _W_? Hannibal’s face creased slightly in confusion and delight as he ran his thumb over the scrawled marks. ( _are we this now, will? kisses on the cheek in the morning, kisses on paper?_ )

He picked up some extra clothes for himself and Will, lingering over his selections with the unacknowledged thought that Will might reappear in time for lunch. But he did not. Finding no further reason to stay, Hannibal returned to the villa and ordered something light from room service.

By the time that Will started back along the path from Angie’s repair shop, Hannibal was sitting on the balcony, deep into his book on the neurology of near death experiences. There were two wine glasses and two plates on the table in front of him. A half empty bottle of wine and a tray holding the leftover salt pork and cassava bread, sliced pineapple and whole ripe strawberries.

As the afternoon sun rose high overhead, it warmed the tile floor of the little balcony and Hannibal angled his bare feet out of its searing yellow light. He set his book down and stretched luxuriously over the back of the chair, his powerful body arced in a deep bow. As he curved forward to stretch his shoulders, he glanced towards the marina in time to see Will walking down the dock to their ship. He was accompanied by a beautiful woman, a small boy with dark curly hair, and a mangy dog. It seemed the universe conspired to build a new pack around Will everywhere he went. A trick of the wind carried the sound of Will's laughter to him- deep and open and sweet. 

There was a stranger in Hannibal’s mind. A relatively new thing in a life of carefully crafted routine and order. Its voice seemed to grow with every day that he spent in Will’s company. “You could let him go,” it whispered now in the well of his mind. “Why not let him go?” Hannibal’s head jerked reflexively and he shuddered as though caressed by small cold fingers. Gooseflesh tumbled along his spine, hair standing up on the back of his neck.

He watched as Will and his new friends disappeared from view behind the furl of the mainsail. From time to time, he could hear the sound of their laughter, the dog barking. At some point, he stopped hearing it and realized the woman and the boy and the dog must have gone home. Still, Will didn’t return. If Hannibal leaned across the table at just the right angle, he could see flashes of Will’s white t-shirt as he worked on the deck of their ship.

Hannibal lingered on the balcony as midday stretched towards deep afternoon, his chair slanted towards the marina. He set his book aside in favor of a pencil and a piece of drawing paper that he’d found slightly crumpled in the bottom of Will’s overnight bag. Strangely, he had no recollection of packing them.  Hannibal sketched the huddle of ships in the marina as the sun started to go syrupy gold. He swept the broad side of his pencil along the lengthening shadows cast by the clutch of spindly masts, traced the rounded tip around the woman sweeping the boardwalk in front of their villa.The warm tropical wind skimmed over the harbor, lifting his hair from his forehead and flittering the edges of the paper, carrying the scent of salt, and sea life, and water-logged wood.

Absorbed in his drawing, he didn’t see Will leave the ship and start up the boardwalk. He lifted his head in surprise at the sound of Will’s feet heavy on the stairs to the bedroom. He tucked the edge of his drawing under the wine bottle and stood up, brushing the graphite dust from his hands. He walked in from the balcony just as Will came through the bedroom door, looking tired and sunburned and exceptionally proud of himself.

“I thought certainly you’d be back before now,” Hannibal remonstrated lightly before Will could open his mouth.

“Yeah,” Will said, pulling his dirty, sweaty t-shirt off over his head. “I meant to come back for lunch, but I already had the motor disassembled and I got caught up in the repair. Which I’m almost done with, by the way.”

Will smiled at him broadly, fine lines crinkling around his eyes. Eli’s cosmopolitan affability clung comfortably to his shoulders, the curves of his mouth. The island rhythm of Angie’s speech was fading from his words, but Hannibal could still hear the strange musicality rippling through them. He was Will, but not Will.

Hannibal looked at him steadily. “And did you enjoy your family outing as well?”

Will’s mouth quirked down and he flinched unconsciously from the ice in Hannibal’s voice. “What family outing?”

“Your new adopted family, Will. The woman and her little boy and his scruffy dog. Who accompanied you in your work today. Wherever did you find them?”

Will gritted his teeth in sudden hurt. “I forgot you can see the ship from our balcony.” ( _why didn’t you just come down if you wanted to see me?_ ) “That was Angie, in case you were wondering. The boat mechanic. Who had the parts we needed. So we can leave. And her dog and her nephew, Dario.”

“How perfect you all looked together, Will,” Hannibal said airily, his fingernails digging briefly into his palms. “Like a family portrait.”

Will wiped his sweaty brow with his filthy t-shirt then tossed it over the pale blue upholstered chair by the door. “Jealous?” he asked with a bitter incredulous laugh. Then he paused and looked at Hannibal’s solemn face, the slight twist of his mouth betraying a deep simmering rage. “Are you really?”

Before Hannibal could answer, Will stalked over to him, ran a hand down his body, and cupped it over his crotch. Hannibal gasped in surprise and fell back a step. Will planted his other hand in the middle of Hannibal’s chest and shoved him against the bedroom wall.

Innocent, dog-loving Eli, the friendly psychologist on holiday with his school friend, drained entirely away and was replaced by Will’s miserable fury. His face had gone pale in his anger; the raised red scar and thin slicing sailmark stood out like warpaint on his bloodless cheeks. Holding Hannibal’s startled, furious gaze, Will unbuttoned his trousers and pulled the zipper down. Silently, he yanked the pants and undershorts off over Hannibal’s hips. He wrapped one oil-stained hand roughly around Hannibal’s slowly stiffening cock, stroking and stroking and stroking until Hannibal was wrenchingly hard and breathing heavily through his nose. Hannibal fought to keep his eyes on Will’s as Will jerked him off mercilessly.

“Is that what you really think?” Will spit angrily. “That I would… would what? Run off with some random Bahamian beauty and her dog?” He shook his head in disbelief.

Hannibal furrowed his brow and moved as though he would take Will in his arms. Will shook his head and shoved Hannibal back against the wall again, hard enough to make his teeth click together. He scraped his nails over Hannibal’s nipples through his shirt until he finally yielded, sagging back against the wall, head tipped back and moaning. As soon as Hannibal gave in to him, Will let go of his cock, leaving it to twitch helplessly in the cool air pouring in through the French doors.

Hannibal groaned at the sudden release of pressure, his own savage anger slowly being crowded out by lust and disbelief. ( _capricious thing_ )

Will pinned Hannibal with his gaze again then looked down at his flushed swollen cock. He drew one finger deliberately up the throbbing shaft to the thick weeping head, gathered the hot fluid on his fingertip, and smeared it across Hannibal’s half-open mouth.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Will told him tightly. “I caught you. I killed you. You’re mine.”

He turned and walked towards the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. He shucked his pants and leaned into the shower to turn the water on.

Hannibal watched him go, stunned. He licked his lips, tasting his own bitter salt. Then he pulled his pants and boxers back up and followed Will towards the bathroom. He threw the door open and reached across Will to shut the water off.

Will spun around to face him. “Now what?” he challenged, still shaken by the cruel things Hannibal had said to him, the dangerous things he’d said in return.

“Don’t,” Hannibal told him, his face fierce with longing.

Will rolled his eyes and wrinkled his nose. “I’ve been working on the motor all day, Hannibal. I stink.”

“Just…not yet.”

Will looked at him steadily for a moment, expression softening. Hannibal took advantage of his indecision and pulled him into his arms. The fabric of his shirt scraped over Will’s bare sunblushed skin. Hannibal pressed his nose to Will’s neck and breathed in deeply thinking  _home, home._

Will shivered as Hannibal’s warm breath flowed over his throat. Hannibal pressed brief open kisses to the crook of his neck, the edge of his hairline, the crease of each armpit, the bend of his elbow. All the places Will’s unique scent clung most heavily to him. He knelt in supplication on the thick navy bathmat and stripped Will’s boxers off, yanking until Will stepped out of them. He lifted one of Will’s legs over his shoulder so he could kiss the back of his knee, mouth the base of his cock, nose along the top of his thigh.

“Jesus, Hannibal,” Will breathed, grabbing at the towel bar and struggling to stay upright under the precipitous onslaught. Desire set his skin alight and his cock was suddenly, painfully, hard.

Hannibal stood and helped Will regain his balance then took him firmly by the arms. “Don’t use soap,” he insisted vehemently before letting go.

“Ok. Ok. I won’t use soap,” Will breathed. ( _fucking lunatic_ )

Hannibal looked at Will a moment longer, savoring the blush rising in his cheeks, then turned and walked out.


	39. Chapter 39

Will came out of the bathroom a few minutes later in a cloud of sweet-smelling steam. He had one towel wrapped around his waist and was rubbing his hair dry with another. He felt much recovered, willing to chalk  Hannibal’s odd mood, and his, up to the strangeness of spending a day entirely apart, their first in so many weeks.

“I thought I said no soap,” Hannibal growled, striding across the room and into Will’s space.

“I didn’t use much soap. A tiny bit,” Will said with a faint uncertain smile. “I smelled pretty strong,” he protested in response to Hannibal’s raised eyebrow.

“You smelled delicious.”

Will sighed and gave him an acerbic look. “Why don’t you see if I still do?” ( _before you get pissy about it_ )

Hannibal took the towel out of Will’s hands and crowded him back against the bed until his knees hit the edge and he collapsed onto it, unbalanced. Hannibal crawled over him and straddled his lap, rocking his hips down and grinding the fine soft nap of the towel against Will’s half-hard cock. Will moaned and lifted his hips, seeking closer contact. Hannibal grabbed his wrists and pressed them into the bed then leaned over him and ran his tongue up behind Will’s ear.

Will’s libido flared to joyous life beneath the comforting weight of Hannibal’s body. He brought his leg up to wrap it around Hannibal’s hip, the towel tucked around his waist unraveling as he did. When he felt Will pulling him closer, writhing soft and warm under him, Hannibal pressed his nose into the crook of Will's neck, sniffed showily, and then pulled away. His face twisted in a sarcastically disgusted snarl that showed the points of his teeth.

“Maybe I should have let you use soap after all, Will. You do stink. Of wet dog and cheap frangipani perfume. How _did_ they compare to your last family, do you think? Did they measure up?”

Will shook his head, lip curling, blisteringly hurt and furious again. ( _oh you petty jealous son of a bitch_ ) He slid his leg off Hannibal's hip and pulled against his tight grasp. “Let me up.”

Hannibal looked at him coolly and leaned his weight into his hands, holding Will firmly against the bed.

Will tried again, pulling until he could feel the friction burning the thin skin of his wrists. “Let me the fuck up.”

Hannibal leaned in and licked along the line of stinging sweat running down his throat. “There you are, Will. It seems I can taste you after all. Underneath all that dockside reek.”

Will arched up as Hannibal kissed his neck and flicked his tongue over his earlobe, tipping his head back in an excellent simulacrum of yielding desire. When Hannibal relaxed his grip on Will’s wrists to press their bodies triumphantly together, Will drove his knee up into Hannibal’s thigh and bucked him off.

Hannibal’s shock didn’t last long. He wrapped his arms around Will and managed to wrestle him halfway onto his back again before Will elbowed him violently in the ribs and pushed him off the bed entirely. Hannibal struggled to his feet, somewhat tangled in the wet towel that had fallen to the floor with him. Will slid off the bed and Hannibal lunged carelessly in his direction. Will feinted left and punched Hannibal in the face, splitting his lip.

Then everything stopped.

The sound of their panting filled the room.

Will and Hannibal blinked rapidly, eyebrows raised at each other in identical expressions of total amazement. Hannibal put his hand to his mouth and drew his fingers through the trickle of blood there. He glanced down at his blood-streaked fingers with a mix of wounded incredulity and pride then held them out to Will with a wild smile that bared his teeth stained red. ( _oh_ _there you are, my vicious love_ )

Will licked his lips and touched the tip of his tongue to his bottom lip in the same place that Hannibal’s was bleeding. “I have been waiting to do that for a long long time.”

“Waiting to or wanting to?”

“Yes.”

Hannibal’s deadly smile spread. He lowered his shoulders and rushed forward, grabbing Will around the waist and tackling him back onto the bed. He took hold of Will’s arm and flipped him roughly, pushing his face into the mattress. He dragged Will’s right wrist up behind his back and put his weight into it, holding him down. Will groaned at the strain in his bad shoulder. He struggled to get his knees under him, but Hannibal shoved one of his thighs up hard, spreading his legs and throwing him off balance again.

Hannibal braced Will’s thighs open then dipped his head and licked a long stripe up over his perineum to his exposed hole. Will gasped and arched his back, opening himself further. Hannibal let go of his wrist and grasped his hips, pulling him back against his wicked mouth.

Will stretched his arms out in front of him and relaxed into Hannibal’s grip, letting Hannibal lick into him until he was soaked and spit was running over Hannibal’s chin. He could feel the rasp of Hannibal’s salt and pepper stubble against his sensitive skin. He blushed hot from cheeks to chest at the thought of simply staying where he was and giving in to the pleasure of it, the shameful rush of letting Hannibal have him, just like this- face down on the bed, pinned under his weight, and still sore inside from the previous night. Despite everything Hannibal had said and done.

No, Will thought, Can’t. He squirmed and thrashed until he’d broken Hannibal’s confident hold on his hips and then eeled out from underneath him. Before Hannibal could get to his feet again, Will had crashed into his side, bruising his ribs and knocking the breath out of him. Hannibal groaned in irritation as Will pushed him flat and leaned his full weight onto his back, legs on either side of his hips, hands on his wrists.

Hannibal huffed and girded himself to keep fighting. Will was quick and crafty, it wouldn’t do to underestimate him, but he could probably knock him off his back and onto the floor all the same. Sweep Will’s weakened left foot out from under him and grind his knuckles into the damaged shoulder muscle until he screamed. He could win…if he wanted to. Did he want to? The muscles all along his back tensed as he contemplated his options.

Will felt him thinking about it. “Be still, you relentless bastard,” he ordered, panting harshly and, unbelievably, laughing. “Jesus fuck.”

“You certainly curse like a sailor,” Hannibal mumbled into the featherbed, adapting gracefully to Will’s changing affect.

Will laughed again and dug his fingertips into Hannibal’s wrists. “Shut up.”

Hannibal could feel the delightful press of Will’s hard cock against his ass as he shifted his hips to get more comfortable. “As you say, Will.”

“Oh, as I say now?”

( _always_ ) “Yes.”

Will let go of Hannibal’s wrists and climbed off him. He stood at the side of the bed, eyes narrowed, considering. Hannibal mourned the loss of Will’s warm weight against his back, but he stayed where he was. Waiting to see what Will would do. His cock was throbbing frantically, trapped in the stricture of his fitted shorts. He rocked his hips down against the bed, hoping Will wouldn’t make him wait too long.

Will trailed his hands down over his own body, caressing the faint bruises on his chest, flicking his stiff nipples with his thumbs. He wrapped one hand around his cock and stroked hard, taking in the long line of Hannibal’s body, the lean muscles of his back, the soft blonde down at the base of his spine- glowing golden now in the late spilling sunlight.

“Sit up,” Will told him finally.

Hannibal inhaled the radiating flare of Will’s arousal, then sighed and sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. He ran his hands through his hair and stretched shakily, cataloging the pleasant damage Will had inflicted. The scratches on his wrists, the deeply bruised thigh, the battered side, the split and bloody lip. The mildly wounded pride, he admitted to himself.

“Tell me, Will,” he breathed, coughing and pressing a hand over his aching ribs. “What do you want from me?”

“Will you do as I say?” Will asked, still smiling with agitated unreliable hilarity.

“Yes. Anything.”

“Anything?”

Hannibal smiled his darkest smile. He spread his long legs and leaned back on his hands, offering himself. “I am yours to direct.”

Will stepped between his legs, took him by the chin and tilted his face up. There was a sort of jagged staticky amusement about him. He smiled again, sharp-edged and playful, meaning to tell Hannibal to get on his knees and suck his dick. Instead he found himself saying something else entirely. Suddenly and almost completely without thought.

“Promise not to kill again,” he said, looking intently into Hannibal’s warm hypnotic eyes. His face went solemn, all his angry effervescence gone. “Promise not to kill again unless…”

Hannibal gasped then, eyes wide. “Unless?” he hissed in hopeful disbelief. “Unless what?”

A moment of profound silence followed. “…Unless I say.”

Hannibal stood up cautiously and draped his arms affectionately around Will’s waist. He nuzzled into the crook of his shoulder and up behind his ear. “Someday,” he whispered, his mouth against Will’s ear, “someday there will be a man so bad that killing him will do good. Then will you say?”

But Will didn’t answer that. Instead he slid his hand up Hannibal’s chest and wrapped his fingers one by one around his throat. “First promise.”

Hannibal swallowed hard under Will’s hand and inclined his head slightly to give him better access. “I will,” he sighed. His restrained breath rushed over Will’s skin, drawing up goosebumps. “I will…for you.”

He licked his lips, afraid to say the next thing. Abruptly terrified at how vulnerable he had made himself to this man. “Don’t,” he whispered. “Don’t hold my leash too long, Will. Please.”

He took Will by the arms and walked him back slightly then dropped to his knees. Will looked down at him with unbearable compassion. Eyes soft, mouth trembling. ( _there are means of influence other than violence_ )

Hannibal gazed up at Will adoringly, thinking _oh don’t back off now._.

Will swallowed convulsively then rubbed his thumb over Hannibal’s sore lower lip and pushed into his mouth. Dug his finger tips into Hannibal's jaw. Hannibal’s eyes fluttered closed as he sucked, running his tongue over Will’s thumb, scraping it with his teeth. Will groaned and rocked back on his heels as pleasure washed over him. He pressed down, prying Hannibal’s mouth open.

“Yes,” Hannibal murmured thickly. “Make me…”

“…suck me,” Will said at the same time.

“Yes,” Hannibal said again. He leaned forward to lick over the head of Will’s cock and slide the tip of his tongue along the ridge. Then he pulled back and breathed deliberately hot over Will's damp skin. Making him shiver. Making him wait.

Will shuddered, wrapped his hands in Hannibal’s shaggy hair and pulled hard. “I said suck.”

Hannibal smiled in gratification, wrapped his arms around Will’s waist, and took his cock into his slick mouth. Will tipped his head back and pressed his hips forward, holding Hannibal still as he thrust in deep. Hannibal dug his fingers into the muscles of Will’s back, content to let Will use his mouth, thrust into his throat, steal his air.

Will felt Hannibal choke and fight to swallow around him as he pushed in. Unlike the first time, Will didn’t immediately back off and he did not apologize. Instead he tightened his grip on Hannibal’s hair and pulled back slowly, dragging the swollen head of his cock over Hannibal’s curving tongue before pushing back in even slower. Hannibal’s eyes closed again as he sucked hard and Will tensed against the spiraling pleasure. He had a flash vision of coming into his own palm and making Hannibal lick it off. Instead, he released his hold on Hannibal’s silky hair and petted him gently. Stroked his cheek and murmured sweetly that he could get up.

“Come on,” he coaxed, urging Hannibal to his feet. “Up.”

Hannibal’s knees creaked as he stood. He ran the back of his hand over his wet mouth. Will’s rough use had re-opened the cut in his lip and his hand came away bloody.

Will leaned in and kissed him gently. He licked lightly along the raw red split in Hannibal’s lip then pushed the tip of his tongue into the cut to widen it. He stroked the backs of his fingers over Hannibal’s stubbled cheek and trailed them around the sensitive curve of his ear. Caught Hannibal’s earlobe between thumb and forefinger, rubbing and squeezing gently just the way Hannibal liked. He brushed Hannibal’s mouth with his and Hannibal chased his kiss, eyes still closed. Will smiled bitterly and kissed him again- deeper this time, hard and comforting and thorough. ( _but_ _violence is what you understand_ )

Hannibal could taste his own blood on Will’s tongue. He thought it might be the most erotic thing that had yet happened to him.

“Take your clothes off,” Will whispered, breaking their kiss and stepping away. As he backed up, he dropped his hands and cupped them over the hard jut of his cock to protect himself from Hannibal’s sudden wolfish regard.

“Take your hands away,” Hannibal countered. “Let me see you.”

Will raised an eyebrow at him.

Hannibal licked his lips uncertainly. “Please?”

Will slowly dropped his hands, Hannibal’s soft wavering “please” pulling hot and sharp like a fishhook in his gut. He crossed his arms over his chest instead and unconsciously broadened his stance. “Now.”

Hannibal looked down and realized his shirt was half open already, two of the buttons apparently torn off in the fray. He undid the remaining buttons with nerveless fingers, shrugged the shirt off his shoulders and let it fall. Then he unzipped his shorts and stepped out of them. He paused with his fingers wrapped around the waistband of his boxers, refusing to admit that he wanted Will to tell him what to do again. Will was exquisitely attuned to him, however, and he had no difficulty catching the needy desire Hannibal was trying to hide.

“Take them off,” Will ordered tersely. “Right now.”

Hannibal’s mouth quirked up in a slight delighted smile. He slid the boxers off over his hips, stepped gracefully out, and set them aside. He watched Will watching him and shifted slightly so the setting sun would highlight the flat planes of his chest, the muscular curve of his thighs. Preening. Enticing.

Will looked him over and bit his lip. “Turn around.”

Hannibal turned away from him and faced their bed, waiting. Will sighed and stepped forward and ran his rough calloused hands over Hannibal’s firm body from shoulders to waist. ( _i bought this. i own it_ ) He slipped his fingers down along Hannibal’s spine and cupped the lush curve of his ass. He squeezed hard, warring against an almost overwhelming urge to smack him until his skin went red and then purple with it.

“Bend,” Will commanded softly instead, pressing on the small of his back.

Trembling minutely, Hannibal bent across the high bed and rested his forehead on his folded arms. Will stepped up behind him, put a hand lightly on his back, then kicked his feet apart. Hannibal drew a sharp breath.

“Wider,” Will ordered, wondering anxiously whether this was his own nascent sadism or some kind of reflection.

Hannibal did as Will told him, spreading wider until his thighs were shaking. When he was he was sufficiently exposed, Will told him to stop.

“Good. That’s good.”

Will found that his first inclination was to thrust into Hannibal immediately, merciless and without preparation, to see if he could draw a completely honest, unconsidered cry from him. As though in apology for this dismaying urge, Will ran his fingers gently over Hannibal’s delicate opening and leaned across his back, offering his warmth against the cool quiver of early evening. “Ok?” he whispered.

Hannibal canted his hips up and glanced back over his shoulder. “Yes. Please, _cheri_ ,” he begged. Then he grinned in airy amusement and fed Will’s desperate words back to him. “Fill me up and fuck me.” ( _so i never forget_ ).

Will reached across to the nightstand for the little bottle of slick and coated his fingers. He circled the tip of one finger around Hannibal’s opening to relax him, sensitize him.

“No,” Hannibal said, shaking his head.

Will pulled back entirely at that, flushed with guilt as though Hannibal had seen every shameful violent impulse that had been streaming through his mind. “No?”

“Don’t gentle your instincts, Will. I can feel the things you want, sharp as claws on my skin. Fuck me open. I know you want to.” Hannibal rolled his head side to side and arched his back invitingly. Waiting to see what Will would do.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Will said plaintively, wishing it were true.

“Don’t you?”

“No!” ( _yes_ )

“You can though. I’ve been so cruel to you, Will; surely you believe I deserve it.” Hannibal sighed contentedly, stretching his arms out then folding them under his head again. “Mark me up, if you like. Mark me up and make me yours.”

“Don’t,” Will said, his mouth gone dry. ”Don’t offer me these things.”

Hannibal started chuckling. “Oh. Oh my. This is the very least of what I offer you, Will.”

Will smacked the back of his thigh, thoughtlessly, to make him stop laughing, stop fucking talking. Hannibal’s bubbling laughter broke over a harsh surprised moan. Will smacked him again, harder, the other thigh this time. Then again, leaving a livid handprint on his ass. Once more, red layered over pink. Hannibal sighed happily and rubbed his stiff cock against the bedcovers beneath him.

Will groaned and hung his head at the feeling of deep satisfaction it gave him to see those quickly fading marks, to hear the slap of his hand against Hannibal’s flesh followed by Hannibal’s pleased moaning. Again, Will wondered if the desires he felt were really his own or only Hannibal’s echo. His own, he feared.

He raked his short nails down Hannibal’s back raising long welts then fisted a hand in his hair and dragged his head back, baring his unprotected throat.

“Yes,” Hannibal hissed. “Good. Take what you want.” ( _vicious boy_ )

Will rubbed the head of his swollen cock against Hannibal’s hole. He was dripping precome, but it wasn’t nearly enough to ease his way. Will was exceedingly reluctant to give his insidious desires free rein, yet Hannibal clearly didn’t want his gentleness just now. As a compromise, and as a bulwark against damage to his own heart, Will poured a copious amount of the slick lubricant over them. Then he pressed hard against Hannibal’s opening and pushed inside bluntly. He looked down to watch himself stretching Hannibal open, the rim of his hole blanched white with pressure then blushing painful pink. He threw his head back and gritted his teeth against the overwhelming pleasure of it.

Hannibal choked back the agonized groan that wanted to escape his lips as Will breached his body, not wanting to give him any reason to stop. Instead he held his breath, squirming under the unrelenting press, fighting to relax around the aching violation. Taking it silently until Will’s hips were pressed flush against the curve of his ass.

Will pulled back slowly then snapped his hips forward hard, making Hannibal grunt and dig his fingers into the comforter. I wonder what it would take to make you cry, Will wondered idly, then flushed hot with remorse. Feeling tainted by his uncomfortable, unexpected lust for Hannibal’s pained pinned helplessness.

Will draped his body over Hannibal’s back and slid in deep, wrapping an arm around his chest. He could feel Hannibal’s heart beating wildly under his palm. Hannibal’s nostrils flared as Will covered him; there was the animal smell of him, of them. The stink of sweat and effort.

Will carded his fingers through the curling hair on Hannibal’s chest and scratched over his nipples. Pulling and squeezing the way he knew Hannibal liked until Hannibal arched up and away. He moaned as the slightly new angle allowed Will’s thick cock to stroke repeatedly over his prostate.

”There,” Will groaned, feeling Hannibal quaking beneath him. “That’s good, isn’t it? Stay just like that. Let me…let me get you off.”

Will licked broadly over his palm and wrapped his hand around Hannibal’s weeping cock. Hannibal braced his hands against the bed and pushed back as Will stroked him roughly and rocked his hips harder. His body sang with burning pleasure as Will used him. He twisted awkwardly and reached behind himself to claw at Will’s hip as he cried out, the convulsive waves of his orgasm crashing over him. His fierce heart beating  _unless_ , _unless_ , _unless_. 

Will surfed the curving surge of Hannibal’s release, whispering “good” and “that’s it” and “come for me.” He felt Hannibal's come sliding wet over his hand and down his wrist. He closed his teeth in the crook of Hannibal’s neck. Thrust in deep and hard and then held there shaking and moaning until he spilled hot inside Hannibal’s body.

For the second time that night, their harsh panting filled the room, drowning out the distant sound of the pounding surf.

They relaxed slowly as the reckless pleasure receded and freed them. Will kissed the back of Hannibal’s neck, smoothed his hands over Hannibal’s body, and pulled out carefully. He rubbed the heels of his hands into the muscles of Hannibal’s back then helped him draw his shaking legs up onto the bed. Hannibal sprawled gratefully on his stomach and Will stretched out next to him, resting a hand on his sweaty side just over his ribs.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured.

“Oh, Will,” Hannibal sighed, pressing his forehead to the bed. He kept his eyes shut tight, waiting for his shattered composure to gather itself back up again. He was flushed everywhere, tingling still with fleeing delight. He felt lusciously hot and bruised and empty. There was the sharp sting of his split lip, the spiky echo of Will’s teeth in his neck.  I love you, he wanted to say. Oh I love you.

Will rested his cheek against Hannibal’s arm, breathing heavily. He shifted to cover the curve of Hannibal’s shoulder with small sweet kisses. Then he groaned and leaned over the edge of the bed to grab the damp towel off the floor. He cleaned himself off and offered the towel to Hannibal when he finally turned over. Hannibal wiped his belly and dropped the towel back on the floor before stretching out on his back. Will raised an eyebrow at him.

“Maid service comes with the villa,” Hannibal sighed drowsily.


	40. Chapter 40

Hannibal shivered as the sweat coating his bare chest started to evaporate in the cool night air. Will pulled the rumpled comforter up over Hannibal’s hips then curled up beside him, his forehead pressed to Hannibal’s shoulder, arms wrapped reassuringly around himself. They were silent for a time, breathing together, alone inside their own thoughts.

Hannibal sighed contentedly and ran his tongue along his torn lip, stretched long and languid, flexed his muscles to feel the lovely crimson ache between his legs again. When Will shifted to press a little closer to him, Hannibal could smell the satisfying scent of his own body on Will’s warm skin. He turned slightly towards him and combed his fingers through his damp hair, releasing the luscious tang of sweat and sex, of Will’s unique spice and the faintest note of his own citrus aftershave.

Will’s stomach rumbled loudly and Hannibal smiled at him.

“Hungry?”

“Starving,” Will mumbled against his arm. “Did you eat lunch?”

“I had something light. There are leftovers out on the balcony. I don’t know that I’d eat the salt pork now, but the bread and fruit should still be good.”

Hannibal stretched again, lean and powerful as a big cat, then yawned extravagantly behind his hand. “There’s wine too. Half a bottle. I was saving it for you...”

“There’s always wine,” Will said, shifting onto his back. Then he glanced at Hannibal sidelong. “Thank you for saving lunch for me. I’m… sorry I was back late. Later than you expected.”

“If you’d come back straight away, you never would have punched me in the face,” Hannibal murmured, patting his hand dreamily. ( _or spanked me or fucked me or made me promise to kill only with your permission_ )

“And that would have been a bad thing?”

“Yes.”

Will shook his head and got up. Absently, he pulled Hannibal’s discarded boxers on before wandering out onto the balcony to pick up the wine and the tray of leftovers. Hannibal curved onto his side to watch him go, a slight smile playing around his lips as the boxers slipped down Will’s narrow hips and Will hauled them back up again. As he stepped through the balcony doors, the last of the fading sunlight turned Will’s messy curls into a copper halo and picked out the glinting russet streaks in his dark beard. Hannibal leaned up on his elbow to take in the dark blue shadows oiling around Will’s feet, the molten bronze sunlight flowing along the graceful line of his bare back.

Unconscious of Hannibal’s longing gaze, Will lingered over the drawing of the marina laid out on the small table, its edge tucked beneath the dark emerald wine bottle. He admired Hannibal’s skill and the sense of melancholy emptiness he’d captured- emphasized, rather than relieved, by the presence of the cleaning woman. He traced his fingers wonderingly along the nearly photographic grey shadows stretched across the wooden boardwalk like reaching fingers. With short sharp stab he recalled Hannibal sketching him as Patroclus, dead despite Achilles’ armor, speared in the belly at the gates of Troy.

Hannibal watched in fond amusement as Will maneuvered his way back through the doorway with the glasses in one hand and the tray in the other, the edge of the drawing caught between two fingers and the wine bottle cradled precariously in the crook of his elbow. Will hopped awkwardly on one foot so he could swing the balcony doors shut with the other. The boxers slipping down to show the deep furrows of his iliac crest and the trail of dark hair under his navel.

As he turned back towards the bed, he caught Hannibal’s merry expression.  “You looked chilly,” he muttered defensively.

Will put the bottle and the wine glasses on the nightstand, set the drawing gently on the floor, and slid the tray onto the bed near Hannibal’s folded knees. He climbed up and sat cross-legged on the other side.

“You’re not going to complain about crumbs in the bed?” Will asked archly, folding a piece of cassava bread around a sunwarmed slice of pineapple and shoving it into his mouth.

Hannibal shook his head and sat up slowly, groaning and stretching, then reclined back against the headboard, the fluffy feather comforter heaped in his lap. “I am not. I’d be more inclined to despair of your feral manners than of crumbs in the sheets. But you deprived yourself all day so…I suppose you can go right ahead and do as you please.”

Will swallowed noisily just to be irritating then gave Hannibal a slanted smile, a raised eyebrow. Hannibal grimaced fondly.

“We should get a proper dinner after this, Will.”

Will nodded and tore off another piece of flatbread, tapped it nervously against the edge of the tray. “Speaking of dinner…and at the risk of setting you off again…”

Hannibal narrowed his eyes at him. “What?”

“Angie invited me, _us_ actually, to a party at her house. A pig roast.”

Hannibal gave him a curious look. “What did you tell her about me, Eli? About us?”

“Exactly what we agreed, Demyan. That we met at university and that we recently took some time off from our busy practices to take a holiday in the Bahamas. We’re testing out the boat you inherited from your uncle.” He paused, “So that’s not _exactly_ what we agreed. I embellished a little.”

Hannibal lifted one shoulder slightly. “A likely enough embellishment.” He broke off a piece of flatbread for himself and chewed slowly, considering the invitation.

Will put his bread back on the tray. “I know you like people…parties,” he said hurriedly before Hannibal could respond. “I feel … you must have been lonely, with only me for company these last few weeks. And…and before that. Once we leave here, we’ll be a long time at sea again before we reach Belize. Why don’t we go?”

Hannibal smiled mildly. “I haven’t been lonely with only you, Will. I enjoy your company. I generally find that I need time alone more than I need parties and you’ve been careful to give me that. As much out of your own need, I assume, as respect for mine.”

Will shrugged. That was true enough.

As Hannibal contemplated Will’s invitation, he absently slid a slice of succulent pineapple between his lips and sucked the juice from his fingers. He caught Will watching out of the corner of his eye and flashed him a quick knowing smile. Will blushed slightly, caught out.

He avoided Hannibal’s gaze and picked up one of the strawberries. Did his very best not to eat it in a similarly obscene sucking fashion. Nevertheless, he could feel Hannibal’s eyes tracing the curves of his lips as they parted around the ripe red berry. He shifted to pull the edge of the comforter over his lap, embarrassed to feel himself stirring again so soon.

Hannibal chuckled under his breath, delighted to have drawn such a reaction from Will. He tore off another piece of the slightly sweet cassava bread, considered adding a bit of the salt pork, thought better of it.

“As much as I would like to accompany you to a pit barbeque, Eli, I have some concerns.” He paused. Something felt _off_ to him. He was having trouble putting his finger on it, but he was accustomed to trusting his instincts regarding danger to his person.  And then there was the issue that Will had just raised- parties, loneliness, time to oneself.

He rifled quickly through his memories of the last few weeks, realizing he hadn’t actually taken advantage of every opportunity to be alone on the ship that Will had afforded him, lingering nearby whenever he could. Perhaps Will needed more time off on his own than Hannibal had allowed. Was that real explanation for his long absence today?

If he hadn’t been so hungry, Will would have commented on Hannibal’s extended silence. As it was, he patiently let Hannibal mull things over while he polished off the majority of the leftovers.

“I believe there may be some danger in this proposal,” Hannibal decided finally, tapping his fingers on his knee.  Then he stopped, eyes crinkling in amusement at the mostly empty tray. “Did you eat that salt pork?”

Will nodded, swallowing the last bit of meat and bread. “It’s completely fine. Salt cured meat is good for a long time out of the fridge.“

“If it’s been salted and cured correctly perhaps,” Hannibal sniffed, disinclined to entertain the risk when he hadn’t overseen the preparation himself.

Will shrugged, unconcerned, and leaned over to grab the wine and glasses from the nightstand."I've eaten worse. And so have you."

Hannibal looked at him for a moment longer, processing the layered extent of that comment, then shook his head slightly and continued. “We’re not that far from the United States here. And this resort takes all the big American papers. I do think it’s unlikely you would ever be recognized, especially with that beard, but I might be.” Hannibal laughed, quick and harsh, briefly baring his teeth. “My crimes were more… more _memorable_ than yours.”

Will furrowed his brow, unconvinced and mildly suspicious of this explanation.

Hannibal caught the bend of his thoughts and answered them. “Out together at the busy restaurant is one thing. In close company for an extended period of time, it may be another. Do you disagree?”

Will thought it over. He had no good counter-arguments in mind. Hannibal was a superior mimic, the best Will had ever seen. Charming and exceptionally socially competent. Even Dr. Andres had started to warm to him again despite her visceral disgust at what he’d done. If he was unsure, there was good reason. Will found himself both disappointed and relieved that they would not be subjecting their new identities, or this fluctuant relationship, to more intimate scrutiny just yet.

“I can hear your stomach growling from here,” Hannibal said, disrupting Will’s tense deliberation. “I have a change of clothes for you. Let’s get cleaned up and we can go out for dinner.”

“Can I use soap this time?” Will asked sardonically.

Hannibal smiled lightly. “You must do as you please, Will.”


	41. Chapter 41

Over the next few days, Will and Hannibal made unspoken space for each other. They agreed Will would attend Angie’s barbecue, if he liked, and Hannibal would not. They did not discuss Hannibal’s earlier display of vicious jealousy or Will’s snarling response to it. Hannibal did not raise the delicious, dangerous promise Will had extracted from him or the way he’d extracted it.

Instead, he confined that satisfyingly abrasive promise to a deliberately unlit alcove in a distant corridor of his mind where it would be safe. Where his attention would not catch on it so readily, repeatedly. He imagined it as a tiny unframed watercolor of Will’s face, his blue eyes wide and savage, teeth bared, dripping red. _Unless_ , Hannibal thought as he turned his back on the raw-edged canvas and walked away. His footfalls loud on the damp stone floor. _Unless._

Will spent most of his time working on the boat under thickly clouded skies. Repairing the motor and the windvane, shinnying up the mast to install the new windex, tracking the NOAA reports and waiting for their weather window. Thinking about the future and trying not to think about it. When he wasn’t working, he went fishing with Dario and Rex in one of the small coves. Visited Angie for parts, for lunch, for shoptalk.

In the evenings, he and Hannibal read on the balcony, books and charts and tide tables. Sharing the local paper. They talked about safe things, friendly things- the repairs, the provisions they still needed, the trip west. About Hannibal’s place in Belize- the “little yellow house”, as Hannibal called it affectionately.

As they talked and read, Will watched Hannibal out of the corner of his eye- the restrained power in his hands, his body. The way he would sometimes grin and touch the tip of his tongue to the points of his teeth. He tried not to dwell on the precipitous leash he’d slipped around Hannibal’s throat and now held wrapped tight around his hand.

While Will was working on the boat, Hannibal strolled along the island’s oceanside walking trails with a sketchbook and a pencil and a scalpel tucked into the pockets of his light linen jacket. He made a little study of the island’s flora- creating detailed botanical sketches of the frangipani, the endangered manchineel, the red-tipped cocoplum. He sat in the pleasant shade of the back bay and drew his boarding school in Paris from memory. Will’s hands from memory. The scar on his cheek, the curve of his back.

The first afternoon, Hannibal found a very small pop-up shave ice stand on a pocket beach off the main road that divided the island. He ordered an ice with black pineapple syrup from the young Japanese couple who ran the shop, then returned the next day for one with coconut cream. The couple was surprised to find Hannibal spoke Japanese and they passed a pleasant hour discussing the more unusual li-hing and picosito syrups.

On their last afternoon in port, Will headed out for Angie’s pit barbecue, leaving before Hannibal had returned from his afternoon stroll. Hannibal knew where Will was going and when. He hadn’t said he’d be back before Will left and Will had no reason to worry about him. Still, Will thought, it felt strange somehow to leave for the evening, for a party, without some… acknowledgment.

Will stuck his key card in his back pocket and grabbed the bottle of wine Hannibal had picked out as a hostess gift and rumbled down the stairs from the bedroom to the villa’s wide first floor foyer. As he walked out, a little flowering bush by the door caught his eye. Will looked at it for a moment then bent and snapped one of the fragrant yellow trumpet flowers off.

He hurried back up the stairs and put the elegant little bloom on Hannibal’s pillow. The deep yellow petals glowed like a miniature sun against the pale blue pillowcase. His hand hovered over it uncertainly. ( _this is stupid)(hannibal likes flowers_ ) Should he leave it? Maybe it would be better to take it with him. Toss it in the harbor.

“Oh for the love of Mike just leave it,” he said aloud in his father’s gruff voice, startling himself.

He gave the flower a last skeptical look, as though it had manifested itself there, and left it where it was.

Will walked out of the twilight shadows at the end of Dario’s shortcut as afternoon slid into evening. He picked his way around the debris and detritus behind Angie’s tin-roofed shop and strolled across the small meadow to Angie’s house next door. He cut across the front yard, following the smell of barbecue and the multicolored twinkling party lights, the sound of many people laughing. Angie saw him coming hesitantly around the corner of her house into the backyard and walked over, waving enthusiastically.

“Eli! I’m glad you came!” she said, squeezing his arm.

Will handed Angie the bottle of wine and conveyed Hannibal’s thanks at having been invited and his deepest regrets at being unable to attend. He explained Hannibal’s absence as unfortunate but unavoidable. Some emergency had come up at work and he was probably going to spend the night trying to coordinate a conference call with the young doctor who was watching his practice and fighting with the island’s spotty wifi.

The people standing near him as he proffered this story nodded in recognition. Never-ending work and problems with technology, the imminently relatable banes of modern existence. Will’s report sparked a well-worn argument between two of Angie’s uncles over improvements to the island’s infrastructure. Angie rolled her eyes and escorted him away before they could suck him into the debate.

Along the back edge of the yard, there was a deep earthen cooking chamber containing a whole pig, spiced and wrapped and set on a metal grate over a bed of glowing coals and damp smoking hardwood. Before Will arrived, Angie had been manning the pit in prickly, good-natured competition with her older brother Gabriel, the harbormaster Will had met his first day in port.

There was a long trestle table nearby set with plates of roasted fish and a dish of pigeon peas. Spicy cracked conch and steamed clams. Dense pineapple cake and dilly crumble and guava tart. There were glazed grilled vegetables and roasted potatoes being warmed beside the pit oven’s shimmering heat. A deceptively fruity rum punch was being passed around along with bottles of dark beer and pitchers of iced tea and switcha.

It was exceedingly warm in the backyard, in the radiance of the pit oven, in the great circle of love these people had for each other. Will basked unconsciously in the ease of its offers- of normalcy, of familial familiarity. He drank a little too much; the rum punch was strong and he realized, a bit late, that trying to keep pace with Angie had been a mistake. He ate a little too much, unwilling to offend anyone, who was everyone, who offered him something to eat.

Eli was better at parties than Will, but Will thought that he might have been able to navigate this small gathering of working people even as himself. There were clerks and teachers and fishermen. The harbormaster and the boat mechanic. Talking about sports and work and politics and family. So like his father’s friends and the people he’d grown up with. Like Molly’s family and her friends

Dario was conspicuous as the only real child at the party. A late born, Angie told him, conceived after Gabriel and his wife had given up hope of conceiving. Dario split his time between playing with Rex and following Will around like a hopeful shadow. His mother tried to herd him away into a clutch of fussing aunties, but Will smiled and said it was fine and offered to teach Dario how to teach Rex tricks.

Angie wound her way through the party, filling glasses, urging people to eat more, to stay longer, to have dessert. She locked eyes with her older sister, met her raised eyebrow, and surreptitiously switched out their grandmother’s cup of rum punch for the virgin version after she started to hold forth, loudly and to no one in particular, on the various problems with American tourists.

And as Angie circulated, she watched Eli play with her dog and her favorite nephew. Watched her family take to him. Felt her legs go liquid when he smiled at her across the lawn. You hardly know anything about him, she admonished herself as she carried a stack of dirty plates into the kitchen. He could be a crazy serial killer. And anyways he’s leaving soon. But soon isn’t _now_ , another side of her suggested reasonably. And one night is better than _no_ nights. ( _a white american tourist…granny would flip her shit bey. she’d never know though. it would only be one night…maybe two_ )

As the first guests began to make their goodbyes, Will gathered himself to leave as well. He felt exceptionally proud of himself, or of Eli he supposed, for having _Made Friends_ here, for having  _Been Sociable._ For having not brought calamity with him to this place.

The fading buzz of the rum punch had left him loose-limbed and easy and he wobbled slightly when he knelt to pet Rex once more. Then he got to his feet and held his hand out for Dario to slap. The boy high-fived him half-heartedly, gazing up at him with guileless disappointment.

“Eli?” he started quietly. “Are you really leaving tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow or the day after that probably.”

Dario looked down and scuffed his shoe in the dirt until he’d raised a little cloud of dust. “Cuz that’s your weather window?”

“Yep.”

Dario’s mouth twisted unhappily. He turned and started to walk off, his shoulders slumped dramatically, then he pivoted on his toes and wrapped his skinny arms hard around Will’s waist. Will looked down, eyes wide, startled. For a single shattering second, Dario’s damp cheek was pressed tight to Will’s belly over the memorial to his first lost child. Before he could respond, Dario had already let him go and was running across the yard towards his parents with Rex hot on his heels.

Will smiled faintly and raised a hand to Dario’s parents.

Angie walked over, watching Dario run off, then she smiled up at Will warmly. “He likes you.”

Will struggled to return her easy smile. “He’s a good kid. Just lonely I think.”

“I wish there were more kids his age around here, but…” She shrugged. “Are you heading out?”

“Yeah, I need to get some sleep. I still have to provision the ship and check a couple of other things before we can get underway. Thank you for inviting me. I had a nice time.”

“I can walk you back if you like,” she offered.

“I’m sure I can find my way. You don’t have to leave your party.”

Angie shrugged and smiled. “It’s ok; my sister can keep an eye on everybody. It’s pretty dark on that path now, no street lights or anything. Give me a sec to grab a lantern.”

Angie disappeared into the house before Will could protest further. When she returned, she had a small LED lantern and a large Tupperware container.

“Leftovers,” she said in answer to Will’s curious look. “For your friend.”

Will’s throat felt tight. It was so warm, so easy. Come meet my family and play with my dog and here take these leftovers for your friend. ( _your friend who couldn’t be here tonight because someone might have recognized him as the guy who definitely killed and ate all those people. jesusfuckingchrist_ )

“You didn’t have to do that, Angie. But, thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Eli!” Angie said, switching the lantern on. “You can leave the container with Gabriel when you push off. Or take it with you. Whatever. I have a ton of them; big sister makes me take food home from her house all the time. She thinks I don’t eat properly.”

Will smiled. “Orange soda and chips sounds like an ok lunch to me.”

“Crisps,” she teased.

“Right, right. Orange soda and _crisps_.”

Will and Angie crossed the dark meadow between her house and the shop. The bright bubbling sound of the party diminishing behind them. The tall dry grass brushed their legs as they walked and Will could hear crickets jumping grumpily out of their way before taking up their creaking tune again.

Angie had been right, Will thought. This late at night, Dario’s shortcut was pitch black. He was familiar with it by now and it would have been easy enough to follow, but he was glad of the little lantern and the pleasant company all the same.

As they walked along the dirt path, listening to the secret sounds of the island at night, Will thought of hunting and camping with his father.

“I used to be scared of being in the woods at night,” he offered, his voice pitched low and thoughtful. “When I went camping with my dad, I thought every snapping branch was a mountain lion.”

“And now?” Angie teased.

Will shook his head and smiled tightly. “I’m not afraid of predators now.”

They paused near a small shallow pond to listen to the deafening chorus of peepers.  Angie looked up at Will, lovely and soft. Her eyes sparkling in the light haze of the little lantern. Then she stood on her tiptoes and kissed him.

He went still, feeling the warm gracious give of her mouth against his. The faint gentle smell of her perfume twined around him. She was such a little thing, tough and kind and pretty. It would be easy to yield to the simple sweetness of her desire, to wrap her up in his arms and lift her off her feet the way she wanted. He raised his hand automatically as though to caress her smooth cheek, but pulled back instead, shaking his head.

“Sorry,” he said hesitantly, conflicted. “I’m sorry; I wasn’t expecting that.”

She looked up at him, her full lips parted, corners lifting in a little smile, her amber eyes wide. “And now that you are expecting it?”

Will nodded. “I like you. And you’re beautiful. But I’m leaving soon and …” He trailed off, unsure what to say next. What _could_ he say next? Sorry, I can’t kiss you; I’m already fucking the murderous psychopath who destroyed my life?

Angie looked at him intently. “And your friend is, like, your _friend_?” she guessed.

Will blushed and ducked his head. “Yeah, I guess. I guess he is. Or he might be.”

Angie grinned up at him, both relieved and disappointed. ( _no cute american one night stand for you, girl)_ She linked her arm companionably through Will’s and they started walking again.

“Is he handsome?” she asked.

“Some people say he is.”

“What do _you_ say?”

Will blushed again. “Yeah, he’s…” The word “handsome” was having trouble leaving his mouth. “He’s striking. You might say beautiful.”

“And is he well off?”

“Very.”

“He’s good to you?”

Will turned the complicated question over in his mind, absently brushing the backs of his fingers over the twisting scar on his cheek, then gave her the safe, simple answer she was expecting. “Yeah. He’s good to me.”

“So. It’s a good match then,” she concluded happily.

They were quiet after that. Will lost in his own thoughts. Angie pleased with herself for having guessed what Will had been hiding. Arm in arm, Angie walked with him to the end of the path where it intersected the main road. She hugged him, quick and hard, and kissed him on each cheek.

“Thank you for coming to my party, Eli,” she recited, hands clasped in front of her, playfully polite. “In case I don’t see you again before you leave…take care, pretty man. Don’t forget us.”

Will smiled wryly and leaned down to kiss her cheek. “How could I forget you, beautiful Angie, boat mechanic extraordinaire?” He straightened up and stepped back a pace to see her better. “If I don’t get a chance, say goodbye to Dario for me, ok?”

She nodded, smiling, then turned to head home. Will watched her leave, her body dissolving into the dark woods, leaving only the small white light of her lantern, bouncing along the path like a will-o’-wisp.


	42. Chapter 42

By the time Will started back from Angie’s, Hannibal was already in bed. Lounging against the headboard, comfortably cushioned by nearly every pillow in the room, reading in the small circle of light cast by the bedside lamp. The yellow trumpet flower was floating in a glass of water on his nightstand.

As usual, Hannibal heard Will before he saw him, the heavy tread of his feet stomping up the stairs from the tile foyer to the bedroom. Not for the first time, Hannibal wondered how it was possible for one slender man to make so much noise when he walked.

Hannibal looked up from his book as Will swept into the room trailing the delicious smell of rum and citrus, smoke and sweet grass and rich roasted meat. Unbearable fondness bloomed in Hannibal’s eyes before he could rein it in. His entire body radiating _homelovemine_. Will felt an immediate answering tug in his chest, in his belly, as he met Hannibal’s warm welcoming gaze.

He licked his lips and swallowed tightly, nearly overwhelmed by the terrible tingling feeling of having come _home_ to Hannibal, having _come_ _home_ to him after a night out with friends. He felt choked with it. He wanted to turn and leave and never look back. He wanted to curl up at Hannibal’s side and put his head on his bare chest. To feel Hannibal’s arms wrapped around him, to breathe him in. His eye caught briefly on the yellow flower in its makeshift vase. He could feel his heart racing.

“Will,” Hannibal said, piercing his sudden overwhelming anxiety. “What do you have there?”

Will looked down and realized he was holding his hand out, his shaking hand, that he was dumbly holding the container of leftovers in Hannibal’s general direction.

“Oh. Angie sent me with leftovers. She said she was very sorry you couldn’t come and that she hoped your conference call went well. She saved you some of the best bits of the roast. That’s customary for guests, she said. A little of the sausage that was stuffed inside, some grilled vegetables, a piece of pineapple cake…” Will trailed off awkwardly, aware that he was speaking too fast. He licked his arid lips again.

Hannibal looked at him curiously. Concerned, but unable to read beyond the static of his trembling discomfort. Had something happened at the party?

“How thoughtful of Angie. Would you give her my sincerest thanks when you see her again?”

Will nodded, hand sinking slowly back to his side. He was only half listening, his attention caught on the warm slide of the lamplight along the line of Hannibal’s collarbone as he shifted against the pillows, the slow rise and fall of his chest, the small dark nipples, slightly peaked in the cool air.

“Would you mind putting the leftovers in the refrigerator?” Hannibal asked cautiously, still trying to draw him out. “I don’t think I could eat anything just now.”

“Yeah,” Will mumbled. “Of course.” He walked into the kitchen, slightly dazed.

He stuck the leftovers in the galley kitchen’s small refrigerator and went into the bathroom to get ready for bed. He was abruptly exhausted, as though he’d run all the way ( _home_ ) back from Angie’s.  

He brushed his teeth and washed his face. Uninterested in provoking Hannibal’s capricious jealousy again, he scrubbed the washcloth over his mouth where Angie had kissed him, his arms where she’d held him with her faintly perfumed hands. He stripped off the smoky t-shirt and sniffed at his armpits.  Dropped his cargo shorts and kicked off his socks and sneakers. Pulled his boxers off, thought about crossing the wide bedroom without them, and put them back on.

He peered at himself in the mirror and ruffled his hands through his hair. He saw only the same man he’d always seen. More battered, battle-scarred, but the same. He could not see what it was Hannibal found so beautiful and so he had no way to enhance it, to make more of it for him. Should he shave his beard? Cut his hair again? Line his eyes and paint his lips with flavored gloss as Molly might have done? ( _what is the difference between a lure and alluring?_ )

By the time he finally came out of the bathroom, Hannibal was comfortably ensconced in his book again. He looked up slightly as Will walked across the room, eyebrow raised. He marked Will’s unusually hesitant gait, the way his arms swung stiffly, as though he was struggling not to wrap them around himself, the fact that he’d left his undershorts on. Little defenses against vulnerability. How strange, Hannibal thought. Had the party been _very_ difficult for him?

Will slid into bed beside Hannibal with a satisfied sigh and stretched out on his back. Slipped his boxers off under the covers and dropped them on the floor. Hannibal looked at him fondly for another long moment, watching the tense lines of his body relax, then licked the tip of his finger and turned the page in his book. Confident Will would sort himself out.

Will settled back into the featherbed, shifting around until he was comfortable. He put one hand behind his head and draped the other protectively over his belly. His eyes slid over the yellow flower on the nightstand again then slipped closed. He dozed beside Hannibal as Hannibal read, listening to sound of the surf through the slightly open balcony doors, feeling the cool cotton sheets around him, the warm line of Hannibal’s body all along his side.

Hannibal closed his eyes and listened to Will’s slow even breathing. Then he sighed and set his book aside on the nightstand, making a note of his page. He clicked off the bedside lamp and curled onto his side. When he felt Hannibal move, Will turned onto his side to face him. Curved his body and drew his knees up until they were almost touching Hannibal’s.

“We’re coming up on our weather window,” Will murmured sleepily.

“Is the ship ready?” Hannibal asked softly.

Will nodded. “Just about.”

“Did you enjoy your party?”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Wish you’d been there.” It was both true and not true.

“Did you miss me that much?” Hannibal teased.

Will paused, heartbeat rising rapidly, breath quickening, then nodded. He squirmed a little closer to Hannibal and peered into his reddish eyes, sparkling in the dim splash of the harbor lights.

Hannibal smiled at him, a warm expression more felt than seen. “What are you looking for?”

“I don’t know,” Will whispered.

They lay together, breathing in time, sharing breath. The space between them warm and comforting. Hands flat on the bed, fingertips barely touching. Will swept his thumb across Hannibal’s hand, bridging the tiny gap, and a slow electricity started to wrap around them, raising the hair at the nape of Will’s neck and all along his arms. He slid the backs of his fingers along the smooth angular rise of Hannibal’s freshly shaven cheek and trailed his calloused fingertips along the delicate curve of his ear, making him shiver, gooseflesh racing across his skin.

Will leaned in and brushed his mouth gently over Hannibal’s. And then they were kissing. Just kissing. Slow and sweet. Mouths closed at first, almost innocent. Bodies tucked in close, still not quite touching.

Will pushed Hannibal’s hair back and held it loosely behind his head, touched his tongue to the parted seam of Hannibal’s sunchapped lips. Hannibal opened to him with an inviting little sigh and Will kissed him deeply, lush and soft. Licking over Hannibal’s lips, his teeth, his tongue. Tightening his fingers in Hannibal’s hair.

Will felt himself getting hard slowly, his body pulling tight and thrilling as they kissed and kissed and kissed. He felt almost starved, as though there could never be enough of this- the luscious pliancy of Hannibal’s lips, the taste of his mouth, the luxurious warmth of his powerful body curled close, trusting and relaxed. No disasters or deadly revelations. No rage or pain or spite. Just this. Sightless sensation in the near dark- all sound and touch and taste. The rising heat of their bodies. The warm wet slide of their mouths. The ebb and flow of their twinning breath. Hannibal’s hand curved, caressing Will’s cheek gently. Will combing his fingertips through Hannibal’s hair.

Will slid his hand down between them and cupped it over Hannibal’s straining cock, cradling it in his palm. Hannibal moaned softly against Will’s mouth and wound his curls around his fingers as Will rocked his hand against his stiff length. Will rubbed his thumb through the slippery fluid at the tip of Hannibal’s cock and down under the head. Here was something he could do for Hannibal, could give to him.

Will sat up over Hannibal’s faint protest and leaned over him towards the nightstand. He grabbed the glass bottle of slick then collapsed back into bed, shifting until he was curled up and facing Hannibal again. He pulled the silky cotton sheet up, almost over their heads, like a child’s fort. He held the small bottle in his cupped hands and breathed on it to warm it, his breath fogging its cool glass sides. It was more than half empty now and he had no idea whether there was another bottle on the ship or not.

“Are you tired?” he asked Hannibal softly.

“mm hmm,” Hannibal nodded. “You?”

“mm hmm. Too tired?”

Hannibal felt his cock twitch and he smiled. “Maybe not. Why don’t we find out?”

Will kissed him again, lips plush and parted. Hannibal groaned in his chest and slipped a hand into Will’s hair to cup the back of his head. When he brushed his fingers through his curls, he could smell the faint savory scent of spice and smoke again. Will pulled back a little, unscrewed the cap of the lubricant, and spilled some of it into his palm. He handed the bottle to Hannibal.

“Can you close that up?” he murmured, concentrating intently on keeping his hand level.

Hannibal smiled at him, took the bottle and recapped it, leaning it against his leg.

Will tipped his hand and let the scant shimmering pool of slick pour out over Hannibal’s cock. He wrapped his slippery hand around it and squeezed lightly. His eyes fluttered shut as he focused on the feeling of Hannibal in his hand, stiff and heavy and hot, the silky sensitive foreskin sliding exquisitely as he stroked. He pressed his mouth to Hannibal’s again, warm and wet and open, caught his desperate moaning on his tongue.

Hannibal started to breathe in time with the rhythm of Will’s hand on him. Long languid sighs that gave way to short harsh gasps of spiked pleasure as Will stroked him harder.

Will licked across Hannibal’s lower lip and sucked it into his mouth, bit down lightly. They uncurled at the same time, stretching their legs. Will pointed his toes, tensed all his muscles, then let go with a delighted quivering sigh as pleasure shot through him.

Hannibal slid little closer until their thighs were touching, pillowed his head on his folded elbow. He laid his cock alongside Will’s and wrapped Will’s hand around them both. “Here. Like this,” he suggested.

Will looked down. In the faint light he could see their cocks pressed thickly together, flushed and swollen, the little glimmer of precome sliding over the tips. This close he could see the differences in them, that Hannibal’s cock was a little more curved, his skin a little darker. He stroked his hand around them once, hard and experimental, and groaned, tipping his head back.

“Oh, that’s…”

“…good isn’t it?” Hannibal’s smug smile.

“Yeah. It’s good.” Will stroked again, feeling himself teetering on the edge of his orgasm already. He forced himself to stop so he could wrap his hand back around Hannibal’s cock alone.  “But...”

“…but?”

Will paused, slightly embarrassed to speak it out. “I wanted this to be for you,” he said finally. “Just for you. Let me…”

Hannibal's eyes sparkled, flooded with the sweetness of Will's offering. “You want to give me something I like?”

Will nodded.

Hannibal coaxed Will’s fingers around them both again. “Then give me this. Give me your flesh wet against mine. Your body against mine.”

Will fisted their cocks together hesitantly. He’d wanted to give Hannibal something intense and wonderful all to himself. A careful careless gift. Wordless. Like the flower. Like thank you, and I love you, and stay with me.

Hannibal nuzzled into Will’s neck, considering how to adapt the little sacrifice Will clearly wanted to make for him.

“Don’t hold back,” he said finally, his voice dropping into a filthy rasping murmur. “I want you to come first. Get yourself off for me. Fast and hard. Slick my cock with your semen and use it to make me come, pressed tight against you while you’re still shaking and sensitive. Give me that.”

“Oh,” Will mewled, leaning his forehead against Hannibal’s shoulder, stroking them together. “Oh fuck. Ok.”

“You clearly like that idea,” Hannibal murmured with a satisfied little smile. “Harder,” he said then, his breath coming fast and short again. “Squeeze. Yes, oh, like that.”

Slippery lubricant and satin skin sliding over hard flesh. Velvety soft and hot. Will had no context at all for this sensation. No flash back to anything he’d ever done with anyone else. There could be none, he realized; this act was entirely masculine. Will groaned under his breath feeling the flex of Hannibal’s thigh against his. The strength in him. In them. The dark strength of them combined. He felt the prickle of Hannibal’s curling chest hair against his arm. Caught the immutable scent of him, beneath the sweet soap, beneath even the smell of spice and musk, something low and predatory. He could hear Hannibal’s ragged shuddering breath, the halting gasp, the barren click in the throat as Will jerked them off together. Hard, harder, harder.

Will shuddered and arched as he came, cries caught in clenched teeth, toes curling, cock pulsing pearly white. His semen slipped through his fingers and down his shaft, running wetly under Hannibal’s foreskin as it Will slid it up and back, again and again.

Hannibal was trembling, gasping. Struggling to hold the edge as long as possible. The throbbing feeling of Will coming against his cock, coating it with his semen, the warm slick of it sliding all over him, was indescribable.

“It’s so much,” Will groaned as he stripped his oversensitive cock against Hannibal’s. Grimacing with the overdose of sensation as he twisted his hand, trying to give Hannibal what he wanted, needed. “Too much.”

“I know,” Hannibal panted, rocking his hips, pushing into the tight wet grip of Will’s hand around them “But you'll do it for me.” ( _beautiful boy_ )

“For you. Yes,” Will murmured, rubbing his cheek restlessly against Hannibal’s.

“It’s so good. Oh you feel so good, Will.”

“Good,” Will breathed, nearly delirious with uncomfortable pleasure. “I want that. I want it to feel good, so good you…” _(what? want me always? love me? forgive me?)_

Before Will could think of how to finish that broken thought, Hannibal was shaking, shattering. Bent forward and resting his forehead against Will’s chest. Fingers digging into the flex of his bicep. Crying out and coming hard over Will’s hand.


	43. Chapter 43

Hannibal woke slowly as the faint dawn light crept into the room. Will was curled up beside him, still mostly asleep. His leg draped over Hannibal's hip, the hard line of his cock pressed to his thigh. Hannibal kissed Will’s forehead and gently disentangled himself. Headed towards the bathroom.

Will rolled onto his belly, sprawling comfortably across the entire bed, his cheek resting against the edge of the pillow. He squirmed in thin fading sleep, rubbing his stiff cock against the soft featherbed, vaguely annoyed by its disappointing give. Hannibal returned and nudged Will until he made grumbling room on the bed. He sat cross-legged at Will’s side and pulled the sheets up over his lap. Brushed Will’s hair back from his face and tucked it behind his ear.

“Turn over, _cheri_ ,” he murmured.

Will sighed in acquiescence and rolled onto his back, eyes still closed.

Hannibal slowly peeled the sheet down to bare Will’s body, letting the silky blue fabric puddle just beneath his flushed cock. The pale gold sun slanted through the wooden slats over the bedroom windows painting Will's burnished skin with Bengal stripes. Hannibal found himself overwhelmed again by the knowledge that he was welcome. No, more than welcome, _wanted_. That he could look as much as he liked. Touch. Taste. That Will ached for him in turn, hungered for him. It was beyond every expectation.

Will shifted slightly, enjoying the pleasant sensation of the sheet sliding over him. His eyes fluttered open as the weight of Hannibal’s gaze took its place, falling across his body like a veil. He smiled up at Hannibal, drowsy and bemused. Stretched his hands over his head. Groaning at the crackle in his back, the pull in his muscles, the hot ache between his legs. He sighed softly and lifted his hips to rut against nothing, as though he hoped the air itself might take soothing hold of his stiff flesh. It was unprecedented, this desire. Fathomless and immaculate and intoxicating. The more he indulged it, the more ravenous it became. His body insistent and demanding. Craving the frightening comfort of Hannibal’s mouth, his hands, his body. 

Hannibal watched Will’s writhing little display with great interest then plucked the crisp yellow flower from its water bath on the nightstand and shook it off. Will watched through slitted eyes as Hannibal twirled the flower thoughtfully in his fingers.

“You left this for me before you went to the party?”

Will nodded, settling languorously into the luxurious hold of the featherbed.

“Why?”

There were so many reasons and Will didn’t want to look at them all. “Because I thought you would like it,” he murmured finally. “Do you?”

“In fact I do,” Hannibal said softly.

He smiled down at Will and then gently stroked the delicate blossom along his one unblemished cheek. Will closed his eyes and bent towards the strange caress. The summersweet smell of the tropical flower filling his nose.

Dreamily, Hannibal traced the flower across Will’s forehead and down along the line of his jaw, trailing it along the faded memory of Cordell’s scalpel. Across his other cheek, bearing the ruinous mark of his triumphant battle with the Dragon. Will tipped his head back and Hannibal floated the flower down along his throat. Brushed the ruffled petals over his stiff little nipples pulling a satisfying gasp from him then grinned and twirled the flower’s stamen in Will’s navel making him laugh and jerk off the bed. Under the cover of his bubbling laughter, Hannibal drew the flower further down, anointing the treacherous path of the linoleum knife, still his very favorite of Will’s many scars.

He brushed the yellow blossom up and down the length of Will’s flushed pulsing cock from tip to base. Slipped it down over his balls and curved it around delicately. Trailed it along the sensitive skin at the crease of his thigh. As he slid the flower up the bony arc of Will's hip, he curled his free hand tenderly around his cock and squeezed lightly.

Will sighed and arched up into Hannibal's gentle hold. “Oh,” he murmured. “Please.” He stretched his arms over his head, drawing his slim body taut.

“Yes,” Hannibal encouraged him. “Relax. Enjoy it.”

Hannibal stroked Will’s cock slowly with one hand and swept curving yellow petals along his bared throat with the other, over the blue beating of his jugular, and the arch of his collarbones, and down around his nipples again. Will sighed deeply, sat up a little, and tried to pull Hannibal down on top of him, wanting to feel his weight, the strong line of Hannibal's body all along his own .

Hannibal put his hand firmly in the middle of Will’s chest and pressed down. “No,” he commanded gently. “Stay just like that. On your back.” He ran his fingers over Will’s body and down his thigh. “Legs open,” he murmured.

“Want to touch you,” Will whispered, spreading his thighs obediently anyway. “Taste.” He thought about the thick push of Hannibal’s cock sliding over his tongue, the heat, the compelling, slightly bitter taste of his come. He slipped his hand along Hannibal’s knee, reaching into his lap. “Are you hard?”

Hannibal could feel the pleasant heavy coil of desire in his belly, but there was no urgency yet. He shook his head, but Will didn’t see it; his eyes were shut tight, lips slightly parted, as though imagining it. Hannibal put Will’s questing hand back on the bed then smiled as Will started reaching for him again, the stubborn crease appearing on his brow.

He considered tying Will’s hands over his head, fairly certain he would enjoy it, but concerned about the recent strain to his damaged shoulder. ( _he should have more physical therapy first_ ) He pondered for a moment, running the flower over Will’s nipples again, pressing down hard and bruising its petals. Then he set the flower aside and stripped the silky pale blue pillowcase off his pillow. He folded it into a thick ribbon and draped it over Will’s chest. Will opened his eyes, startled.

“You might hold onto that,” Hannibal suggested mildly. “Since you’re having trouble occupying your meddlesome hands.”

Will worried his lip between his teeth as a little zing of dark pleasure shot through him, wishing he didn't want this as much as he did. He held the folded pillowcase in his hands and twisted his wrists to wrap them in the fabric then rested his vaguely bound wrists on his belly.

“Better?” Hannibal asked in amused solicitude.

Will nodded. It was better actually. Hannibal could touch him as he pleased now and Will could do nothing about it. He let his eyes flutter closed again, feeling only slightly guilty at being the focus of such dedicated attention.

Hannibal smiled slightly and tilted his head to the side, observing Will with a dazzled sort of distance. He stroked his calloused fingers over Will's nipples and leaned in to bite at them. Cupped his balls gently in his palm, caressing. Slid the tips of his fingers underneath to rub and press against his perineum. Nipped at his throat. Licked over his earlobe. Playing with him. Curious what noises Will might make. How desperate his cries. How wet he might become, how flushed his skin, his cock.

“You’re teasing,” Will sighed fractiously as Hannibal picked up the flower again, circled his nipple with just the tips of its petals

“I am,” Hannibal agreed. “Tell me, how does it feel?”

Will groaned and squeezed his eyes shut tighter. Always the prying, poking little questions. He twisted the ribbon of fabric in his hands, pulling and pulling until it bit harder into his wrists.

“I feel…hot,” he responded, saying the first thing that came to mind.

“Where?”

“Everywhere you touch me with that thing.”

“And?”

Will shivered. “And inside. Up inside. I feel feverish and…”

“…and empty?”

“Yes.”

Hannibal turned the flower around so that he could scrape the rough stem over Will’s chest in a long looping whorl. “What else do you feel?”

Will hissed and arched up. “Sparks on my skin. In my stomach. The palms of my hands.”

Will lifted his hands up in front of his face as if he expected them to be glowing then rested them back on his belly. “Want to touch you,” he murmured again, squirming restlessly. “Feel you on top of me.” Will made his gaze as soft as possible and looked up from under his lashes. "Please, Hannibal."

Hannibal chuckled under his breath and shook his head. ( _manipulative. brazenly manipulative_ ) He circled the flower’s soft petals around Will’s belly, crossing the dramatic scar again and again.  “And when I touch you here? What do you feel?”

“Hot still. Fluttering.” ( _like something alive trying to get out_ )

“I made some botanical sketches yesterday,” Hannibal commented as he drew the flower down and swirled it around the thick head of Will’s cock. “Did you know there are manchineel trees on this island? They’re the most poisonous flora on the planet. Every single part is toxic. Leaves, fruit, seeds, sap. Even the sawdust from the wood.” His voice was uncomfortably affectionate.

“Is this flower poisonous?” Will asked, lifting his hips to chase the faint tickling sensation of the delicate blossom against his hard flesh, only distantly participating in this conversation.

Hannibal chuckled. “Of course not. Although honey made from its pollen can be. It’s Yellow Elder, the national flower.”

He turned the blossom around again and used the tough stem to draw the branching outline of the manchineel tree over Will’s torso. Its spreading shape was similar to the Tree of Life, but the fruit it bore brought only death.

Hannibal started stroking Will’s cock again with his free hand, a little more firmly now, rubbing his thumb rhythmically against the sensitive spot just below the head. Will whimpered and twisted under the delicious pressure of Hannibal’s hand and the rough scraping drag of the flower’s stem, his voice high and breathy, pulling against the bonds he’d wrapped around his own wrists.

Dark red lines chased the slightly sharp stem across Will’s skin as Hannibal sketched, marking Will’s body like a warning. Will moaned, arching up and then jerking away as Hannibal drew a particularly vicious line down his chest representing the tree’s splitting fork.

“Hurts?” Hannibal inquired.

“Yes.”

“Is it good?”

Will blushed outrageously. “Yes.”

Hannibal cocked his head and sketched the broad outline of a poison leaf around Will’s nipple. ( _how much pain do you enjoy i wonder_ ) Will twisted under the sharp sting, flinching away with a short gasping cry then thrusting his hips up into Hannibal’s hand. Hannibal squeezed Will’s cock again lightly and felt the answering throb in his hand. ( _fascinating_ ) He filed this information away then set the crumpled yellow blossom aside, its vitality drained to his purpose. He trailed his fingers along the quickly fading lines decorating Will’s torso. Leaned forward and traced the worst of the marks with the tip of his tongue, pressing hard against the serration of slightly damaged skin.

“Oh,” Will moaned, feeling the warm wet slide of Hannibal's tongue over the smarting little laceration. “Am…am I bleeding?”

Hannibal shook his head, licked over Will’s nipples. “Did you think you were? Hope you were perhaps?”

Will shook his head a little too late to be convincing.

“You tempted me with that once. You told me you would lick your blood from my mouth.” ( _manipulative boy_ ) “Do you remember?”

“I…no? I don’t think so.”

“No? In Florence,” Hannibal murmured, biting at his nipple, lashing it with the tip of his tongue.

“Oh, I can’t think when you do that,” Will moaned. Then he furrowed his brow. “I…wait. I remember…something. I was high. I was high on morphine and whatever else you injected me with.” Will stopped speaking for a moment, mouth drawn down in deep unhappiness, shivering from top to toe with cascading memories of alchemical violation. He took a deliberate breath and continued. “I remember you opened my chest, spread my ribs like wings, lifted out my beating heart and bit into it. And then you kissed me.” Will shook his head as if to dispel this vision. “Your mouth," he whimpered helplessly. "Oh your mouth was all blood.”

Hannibal’s breath caught fluttering in his throat as Will's vision burst open before him. He lifted his head from Will’s chest and looked up at him, completely still for a moment. “I did this to you?” he murmured.

“Yes.”

He licked his lips. “How did it feel?”

“Terrifying,” Will whispered. “Glorious.”

“Beautiful, Will,” Hannibal sighed.

He leaned in again and swept his tongue along one of the deeper scratches on Will's chest. Scraped his teeth over the broken flesh. Reached down to stroke Will's cock firmly then sucked one of his nipples into his mouth and bit down hard.

Will writhed between Hannibal’s hands and his mouth, yanking at the fabric wrapped around his hands, teeth gritted against a high-pitched little cry.

“Should I stop, Will?” Hannibal teased sharply, pulling away and wiping his mouth. “You seem quite distressed.”

Will shook his head wildly. “No. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

Hannibal knelt up, the puddled sheet slipping out of his lap. He ran his hands along the insides of Will’s thighs. “Spread your legs a little more.”

Will let his legs fall open under the encouraging pressure and Hannibal moved to kneel between them, sitting back on his heels. He put his broad hands on Will’s shins and pushed them up.

“Bend your knees,” Hannibal murmured. “Open up for me.”

Will shivered and hissed between his teeth as he let Hannibal slide his legs up the bed, bending his knees. Heat flared across his skin, balls drawing up tight, cock jerking as his muscles flexed.

Hannibal reached across Will to grab one of the pillows. “Lift up, _cheri_.”

Will angled his thighs together protectively and raised his hips as Hannibal slid the pillow under them.

Hannibal set his hands on Will’s trembling knees and paused to watch the little fluster of tension rippling across his belly, the breathless heave of his chest, the blushing blanch of his teeth buried in his full lower lip. The way Will covered his eyes with his bound hands and shook his head in unconscious negation of the anticipated exposure and the guilty pleasure of it all.

Hannibal grinned unseen, sharp and predatory, then slowly and deliberately spread Will’s legs apart again. Will groaned and threw his head back and Hannibal briefly imagined him bound in futomomo, knotted ropes circling his legs, pinning calves to thighs.

He sighed longingly ( _another time perhaps_ ) then patted Will’s knee. “Stay like that a moment, _cheri_.”

Hannibal reached for the bottle of lubricant. Settled back on his knees and set his free hand on Will’s belly, grounding him. Then he slicked his fingers and rubbed them over Will’s opening. Will tilted his hips up irresistibly and Hannibal pushed one finger inside easily, bending the others and pressing them against his perineum.

Will gasped and bucked at the feeling of Hannibal's finger sliding into him all at once, his body clenching involuntarily around the intrusion.

“Good?”

“God yes.”

“More?”

“Please.”

Hannibal slid another slicked finger inside him, crooked them up.

Will drew his knees up closer to his body, spreading his legs further. Eyes closed, fighting the shame of such obvious need. “Will you…?”

“Come into you?”

“Please.”

Hannibal shook his head. “I want you to come like this. Just like this. Beneath my hands. Do you know, I believe this is the first time I’ve had you in pure clear daylight. I want to watch.”

Will shook his head and covered his face with his bound hands, embarrassed.

“Take your hands away,” Hannibal ordered kindly. “Or I’ll stop and leave you all wet and aching.”

“So stop,” Will retorted from behind his hands. “I can get myself off.”

Hannibal shrugged slightly. “Perhaps. But it wouldn’t be nearly as good as what I have in mind.”

“You really are an arrogant prick,” Will groaned.

Hannibal grinned and punished Will delightfully for his rough mouth- crooking his fingers and dragging them over his prostate until his back bent in a bow and he made a wonderful, near choking sound in the back of his throat, leaving off abruptly before the pleasure could peak.

Will opened his eyes slightly and peered out, a sliver of shifting blue between the bars of his fingers. Hannibal raised an eyebrow at him.

“Take your hands away,” he insisted sternly, pushing his fingers up inside Will again, stroking once, perfectly, then backing off.

Slowly and reluctantly, Will lowered his hands and rested them on his belly. Uncovering his face and letting Hannibal drink in the flush of lust and apprehension. He writhed restlessly and reached down towards his cock, twisting his wrists to shake off the soft makeshift binding, as Hannibal circled his fingers over the sweet spot. Hannibal shook his head, grabbed hold of the looped fabric, and jerked Will’s wrists up and to the side, holding them tightly aloft.

“No, no, _cheri_ ,” he said quickly. “I want you to come like this.” Hannibal curved his fingers again and swept them over the little bundle of nerves inside. “Just like this. From my fingers inside you and that’s it.”

Will paused, brow furrowed. “I'm…not sure I can,” he said honestly.

Hannibal laughed merrily. “You can, of course. It's a relatively simple thing. One only needs patience and a little skill.”

“And I suppose you’re patient and skilled?” Will moaned as Hannibal pressed in with unerring aim.

“Very,” Hannibal said with an utter absence of modesty.

He set Will’s bound hands back down, confident Will would keep them there. Then he pulled his fingers out of Will’s body gently and spilled a little more of the lubricant over them. He reached back between Will’s legs and slid the tips of his fingers across the slick, tight opening. Rubbed a gentle probing circle around the tense rim. Teasing. Waiting.

Will groaned and rolled his eyes, too aware of what Hannibal was waiting for. “Please,” he begged through gritted teeth. ( _arrogant bastard_ ) “Please put your fingers inside me.” He squirmed against the pillow Hannibal had stuffed under his hips. “If you won’t…won’t fuck me, at least give me that.”

Hannibal sighed in gratification as Will’s honeysweet pleading washed over him. “Yes. Lovely. Now look at me, _cheri_ and let me see how you like it.”

Will moaned and caught his lip in his teeth, grinding the tender flesh between them. He struggled to hold Hannibal’s intense gaze as Hannibal twisted his fingers and buried them deep, gliding into the clenching, trembling passage. He panted, pleasure bolting through him as Hannibal curved his fingers up and circled them gently over his prostate again, pressing and stroking. He watched Hannibal watching him, backlit and lined in shadows. His long hair gone molten silver in the slatted flare of the morning sun.

Hannibal swept his free hand along Will’s body, caressing his chest, his belly, his thighs. Assiduously avoiding his swollen cock. “Good?” he asked as he spread his fingers and stroked firmly down either side of the sensitive clutch of nerves inside.

Will nodded, wordless, hips lifting. He fought to keep his eyes open, to let Hannibal have the longing in them, the need, the rising desperation. Copious pre-come ran freely from his twitching cock, dripping onto his stomach.

Hannibal marked that with small sound of approval. “You’re so hot inside, Will,” he whispered, leaning in to kiss Will’s belly, licking at the bitter fluid pooling there. “Your body is so responsive, sucking my fingers in. I can feel you struggling to come. Do you want that?”

Will nodded desperately, twisting his wrists up in the silky cotton fabric to stop himself from reaching for his cock. If only Hannibal would let him touch himself, he would come in an instant.

“Try tensing and releasing your muscles,” Hannibal said, fluttering his fingers, drawing Will's attention back to his body. “These muscles just here. Tense and release, like a wave. Drawing the pleasure up inside. Breathe into it. Slow and easy. Let the pressure build and spread."

Will squeezed his muscles as Hannibal instructed and gasped in surprise, toes curling as the hot pulsing throbbing feeling inside him spiked and swelled. ( _that works_ ) "Fuck that's good," he whimpered, lifting his hips. "I'm so close. It feels...oh, it feels like you’re rubbing my dick from the inside.”

“That's not inaccurate," Hannibal agreed, adopting a little professorial tone. "Part of the penis is buried inside the body. It’s quite similar to the clitoris in that way, of course. It runs just here.” He curved his hand a little more and pushed slightly up, demonstrating. He rocked his hand gently side to side and grinned at Will’s dazed expression. “Can you feel it?”

Will nodded automatically, having caught only a handful of words. His mind nearly whited out by sensation as he swiveled his hips in a little figure-eight, working his body against Hannibal’s hand.

Hannibal sat back to watch, undulating his fingers in a steady rhythmic motion, letting Will move around them as he pleased. “That’s so good, Will. Take what you need. Perfect.” He could feel the tiny contractions when they started, signaling the beginning of orgasm. “Oh lovely. That's it. Come for me. Come on now.”

Will thrashed and writhed as the pleasure built and built and built, unable to keep his eyes on Hannibal any longer. “Oh god,” he moaned, tipping his head back. “Oh god. Oh my god. Oh. Oh fuck.”

Hannibal watched raptly as Will dug his heels into the bed, arched his back, and threw his forearm across his mouth, screaming into the crook of his elbow as he came in a blinding surge. His cock pulsed untouched, spurting semen across his chest.

Hannibal continued to rub his fingers gently against Will’s prostate until the powerful contractions eased and Will’s body finally stopped convulsing.Then he slipped them out slowly and carefully.

Will shuddered all over as Hannibal withdrew, whimpering “oh god, oh my god” again. He turned protectively onto his side and drew his quivering legs up, curling around himself, tucking his bound hands under his cheek.

Hannibal watched him a moment longer, absorbing every last vulnerable little shiver, then slowly drew the sheet up over Will’s trembling body. Will seized its edge and wrapped it snugly around himself.

Hannibal stood up on shaky legs and stretched, slowly becoming aware of his body again, the creaking strain in his knees, the persistent heavy throb of neglected arousal low in his belly.

“Don’t go,” Will murmured, feeling hollow now and empty and strangely adrift without Hannibal's hands on him. “Please. Not yet. I feel...”

Hannibal leaned down and kissed the top of Will’s head. “I know. A moment only, _cheri_. Pardon me for just a moment.”

Hannibal went into the bathroom to wash up and came back with a glass of cool water and a steaming washcloth. He stripped the soiled sheet off over Will’s muttered protests and coaxed him onto his back again so he could wipe the come from his chest and stomach. He gently unwrapped Will’s wrists and handed him the water. Will drained it gratefully before flopping back into the bed and curling consolingly around himself again.

Hannibal bundled the sheet and pillowcase and washcloth onto the floor then slid back into bed beside Will and pulled the plush down comforter up over their bodies. He rubbed a hand firmly over Will’s back, soothing and calming. Will turned over and curved into Hannibal’s body, drawing his legs up and pressing them to Hannibal’s side, burying his face in Hannibal’s chest. Hannibal shifted them slightly so that he could wrap his arm around Will’s shoulders, protective and possessive. He ran his fingers through Will’s damp curls as Will sighed and shuddered.

“That feels nice,” Will murmured after a time.

“Good,” Hannibal whispered back.

Another little silence then, “That…what you did to me…that felt amazing. Incredible. I… Thank you.” ( _thank you? jesus. who says thank you after?_ )

Hannibal chuckled, and bent to kiss the top of Will’s head. “No need to thank me, _cheri_. Although, you’re more than welcome, of course. It’s amazing what one can do with a little knowledge of simple anatomy." He paused. "Actually, I should be thanking you.”

“For what?” Will mumbled drowsily. “You didn’t even get to come.” He patted Hannibal's arm reassuringly. "Yet."

Hannibal chuckled again. “For indulging me and letting me watch your beautiful performance.”

His smile slipped a little then as the brutal onrush of _lovehomemine_ wrapped around his chest like an iron band, crushing his breath.

“You’re truly exquisite _in extremis_ , Will,” he whispered, fighting the distressing stricture in his throat. “And when you come apart in my hands, shaking and crying out, your beauty is unsurpassed. I could watch you forever and never tire of it.”

Will blinked rapidly, overwhelmed, his heart suddenly hammering against his ribs. His first instinct was to shake his head, shake it off, cast it back, but he didn’t. Couldn’t. Instead he simply curled up closer to Hannibal’s side and tangled his fingers in the thick silver hair on his chest, holding on.

Hannibal swallowed against the tension in his throat and sighed shakily as he felt Will relax silently into him, basking in the warm line of Will’s body all along his side. He leaned his cheek against Will’s hair and listened to his breathing. They dozed for a time, cocooned in the warmth of their bed.

“We need coffee,” Will muttered eventually, his face pressed to Hannibal chest, voice nearly inaudible. “And breakfast. Can we order breakfast?"

Hannibal murmured in agreement, reaching across the bed for the phone. “What shall we order?”

“Everything.”


	44. Chapter 44

Hannibal held an extended murmuring conversation with room service about their breakfast menu and the various modifications he had in mind for it. Will drifted, dozing at Hannibal’s side, catching every third word or so. At one point, he thought he heard Hannibal ask for “South Beach ostrich,” although that seemed excessively unlikely. Images of their next steps- provisioning the ship, setting a course, raising the sails- flowed through his mind, interrupted intermittently by the electric jolting aftershocks of his overtimulated body spasming around nothing.

Hannibal leaned over Will and hung up the phone, moderately satisfied that the villa’s kitchen could deliver what he’d asked for. He cupped Will’s cheek briefly and kissed the top of his head then slid out from under him.

Will rolled himself up in the down comforter as soon as Hannibal got up. He stuck one foot out then pulled it back under the blanket. It was really too warm to be so wrapped up, but he felt bare without it. He wanted to be surrounded, enfolded. To be held. The muscles in his thighs were still jumping, strained and quivering from being spread so wide, and there was a faint tingling inside when he stretched his legs, his body recalling Hannibal’s fingers sliding deep and stroking over the most sensitive part of him. It had been too much. Too much and yet somehow still not enough. Will sighed and curled more tightly around himself, tangling his fingers in the edge of the comforter and drawing it up against his cheek. As he shifted, he could feel the thin stinging protest of the little scratches where his chest was pressed against the soft cotton ground sheet. 

By the time Hannibal returned with breakfast, Will was drifting again in threadbare sleep. He was vaguely aware of Hannibal knocking around in the galley kitchen- the sound of the little oven opening and closing, the faint ceramic chatter of dishes. Hannibal walked back into the bedroom to ask Will if he wanted to eat on the balcony then stopped and smiled at the mounded white comforter heaped in the middle of the bed. He lifted the edge of the blanket and bent down to peer in. Will was curled up in the small warm space like a wolf cub in a snowy den. Hannibal had a lovely flash of Will snapping his teeth at Mason’s unspeakable majordomo and taking a crimson chunk out of his cheek. How much more lovely it would have been if they’d been outside with the glittering white snow and the long blue shadows!

Will opened one eye slowly as the slightly cooler air pouring through the villa’s windows rushed over his bare skin. He gave Hannibal a small sleepy smile that tugged him painlessly back to the gentle present.

“Good morning again, _vilkiukas_ ,” Hannibal murmured, answering Will’s soft smile with one of his own.

Will yawned widely behind his hand. “That’s a new one. What does it mean?”

“It means ‘little wolf.’”

Will smiled faintly again and groaned and stretched. Then he rolled away on his side, yanking the comforter out of Hannibal's hands to wrap back around his body, leaving only a shock of dark curly hair exposed.

“Would you like to come out from there?” Hannibal asked, eyebrow lifted in faint amusement. “There’s coffee. And an enormous breakfast. Just as requested.”

Will made a general sound of negation that was slightly muffled by the blanket.

Hannibal turned as if to walk away towards the kitchen. “I’ll have to start without you then.”

Will made another grumbling wordless protest and dragged himself halfway out from under the comforter. He sat back against the headboard with the blanket draped all around him like a puffy poncho, blinking in the bright morning sun.

Hannibal turned back and sat at the edge of the bed. He was mildly concerned about the withdrawal evident in the tight line of Will’s shoulders, in the comforter he clutched close despite the rising warmth of the tropical morning. Hannibal tilted his head and reached for him, stroking one finger along the line of his jaw.

Will shivered and pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders. He felt faintly ashamed of himself now that he was returning to his senses. He closed his eyes and turned away, ducking Hannibal’s inquisitive regard, but that wasn’t any better. Behind his eyes, he saw stutterflashes of himself as Hannibal must have seen him earlier that morning. Writhing wantonly under his hands. Legs spread and wrists bound up. Moaning and begging with abandon in Hannibal's _pure clear daylight._

Hannibal cupped Will’s cheek firmly and lifted his chin, forcing Will to look at him. “Will?”

Will glanced at Hannibal out of the corner of his eye and then away, a little blush creeping across his cheeks. Hannibal rubbed his thumb over Will’s cheekbone, absorbed by the unnecessary shame chasing across his face. He wanted to hold him, to pull Will into his arms and offer the shield of his body so that Will did not need to force himself to ask for it, but he also dearly wanted Will to come to him for comfort of his own accord. A familiar dilemma.

He brushed his fingers sweetly through Will’s hair from his temple to the nape of his neck. “Would you like to take our breakfast in bed today, instead of on the balcony?”

“Yes,” Will murmured gratefully, picking at a loose thread in the blanket’s seam. 

Hannibal gazed at him intently then dropped his hands to either side of the comforter and started to pull it open. Will’s hands tightened involuntarily in the soft fabric, fighting to keep it around him.

“Will?”

“Yeah?”

“I’d like to see to the scratches on your chest, if I may. I wouldn’t want them to become infected.”

Will shivered again. There was the little frisson of heat at being asked to expose himself, expose what he’d let Hannibal do to him, the pain he’d all but begged for. A feeling of stomach-clenching wrongness in letting Hannibal take such considerate care of the damage he’d inflicted.

“Yeah, ok,” he murmured, reluctantly letting go of the blanket.

Hannibal drew the edges of the comforter open slowly like theatre curtains. Will’s chest was covered with little bites and bruises. An array of small scratches, all red and pink and swollen along the edges.

Will’s mouth trembled as he surveyed himself. Hannibal’s eyes flicked over his face then down to the fresh bite beside his nipple and the faint faded bite marks layered below that. He felt uneasy suddenly- perhaps Will would not appreciate being marked in this way. Certainly they had not discussed it.

Will caught Hannibal’s thoughts in the slight downturn at the corners of his mouth, the brief squeeze of his fingers in the edge of the comforter. He took Hannibal’s hand in his and placed it over the newest bite. His eyes fluttered shut on a little gasp as Hannibal pressed his fingertips lightly into the blackberry bruise.

“I like it,” Will admitted. His slid his tongue unconsciously along his lower lip. “Do you like.... the way it looks?”

“I do,” Hannibal said quietly. ( _too much. far too much_ )

He ran his thumb firmly over the faint impression of his sharp teeth in Will’s flesh, inordinately pleased with the savage stain and delighted with Will’s answering shiver. The goosebumps racing over his arms. The minute shift of Will’s hips as arousal flared hot and brief before backing off to a low smolder again.

He pulled a handful of alcohol wipes from the villa’s small first aid kit out of the pocket of his plush terrycloth robe and gestured at Will’s chest. “May I?” he asked, ripping one of the packets open.

Will flinched from the penetrating astringent smell then nodded, looking down at his torso to watch Hannibal work. “You come prepared,” he murmured.

“Generally,” Hannibal agreed.

Will sucked in a short sharp breath as Hannibal swept the first cold wipe over the deepest laceration. Most of Hannibal’s design had faded, the outline faint and broken, but it flared to life again in the stinging red wash of the alcohol. Will closed his eyes and saw the disconnected scratches running liquidly together. The toxic tree standing out against his skin in a hairline fracture of volcanic copper. A signpost and a warning.

When Hannibal was finished, he sat back and looked at the irritated lines of his renewed design with a pleasant mix of pride and longing. He forced himself not to run the pads of his fingers or the tip of his tongue over the swollen broken skin he’d just cleaned. Will shivered under Hannibal’s barely restrained regard and slowly enclosed himself in the comforter again. This time, Hannibal allowed it. He collected the used alcohol wipes, patted Will’s knee, and stood up.

“Breakfast will be ready shortly,” he called over his shoulder as he went into the kitchen.

Will lingered in bed for a moment then swung his legs over the edge and headed towards the bathroom. By the time he came back, freshly washed and brushed, Hannibal was nearly finished setting up his makeshift dining room.

He’d carried the little square wooden table from the kitchen into the bedroom and set it at the foot of the bed. Piled it high with the things he’d ordered from room service- crisp bacon, soft and toasty sourdough bread glistening with melted butter, sliced fruit, the kitchen’s best approximation of a sacramonte omelet. He’d also set out some of Angie’s leftovers- the pineapple cake, the sweetglazed roast pork and savory sausage. Next to all that was a pitcher of tropical juice and a carafe of strong black coffee.

Hannibal started arranging glasses and coffee mugs, silverware and napkins, placing them exactly equidistant from each other on either nightstand. He poured an equal measure of juice into each glass and wiped the rims with a clean white dish cloth. He fixed Will’s coffee precisely the way he liked it- black with only a little sugar.

Will offered to help, but Hannibal waved him off, full of fierce good humor.  He was almost obscenely pleased with the opportunity to have Will under his care again.

“It’s almost ready, _cheri_. Why don’t you climb back into bed and I’ll fix you a plate?”

Will scowled, about to tell Hannibal that he was fine, that he didn’t need to be coddled. Then he noticed that Hannibal had laid out a t-shirt and undershorts for him as well, as if Hannibal knew how exposed he still felt and wanted to protect him from it or make amends for it.  Will pulled the shorts up over his hips, warmth blooming in his belly as though he’d swallowed the whole pot of hot coffee.

He slid into bed and pulled the comforter up over his lap as Hannibal returned from the kitchen with two creamy white porcelain plates. Hannibal filled each one in careful measure from the cornucopia at the foot of the bed, decorating the edges with a feathered fan of sliced fruit, then turned and held out the plate he’d fixed, a small proud smile quirking the corners of his mouth.

“Here you are, Will. Everything.”

Will swallowed hard and reached for the plate. Hannibal’s gently covetous care landing like a lash on his raw heart. Hannibal settled into bed beside him with his own plate and Will curled close to him, nearly clinging. His shoulder alongside Hannibal’s shoulder. His thigh pressed against the length of Hannibal’s thigh. Leaning into the solid strength of Hannibal’s body to mute his quivering unease. Hannibal was entranced and he drew slightly away from Will under the guise of shifting his weight just to feel him follow.

As they ate, he added more fruit and toast and eggs to Will’s plate, watching him quietly eat only what he was given. He was nearly overcome with the urge to feed Will by hand, to take Will’s plate away entirely and offer him the choicest bits from his own fork, but he refrained, hesitant to exacerbate Will’s already unstable mood.

Will pierced the last piece of soursweet pineapple and slipped it into his mouth, chasing the pale yellow juice with the tip of his tongue. The tines of his fork clinked loudly against the china plate as he set them aside on the nightstand. Unburdened, he slid a little closer to Hannibal and curled into his warmth. He looked at Hannibal sidelong, eyes flickering over his mouth as he ate, his throat as he swallowed. Hannibal raised an eyebrow slightly and returned Will's glancing gaze, his expression guarded but curious. Waiting to see what Will would do. Always waiting to see what Will would do.

Fear and desire began to wrap around Will's spine like a flowering vine, prickling his flushed skin and twisting up inside him. A hot rush of embarrassment flooded his face as he remembered asking Hannibal to lie on top of him, to come into him, and being denied. He took Hannibal's wrist and lifted his arm then stretched out and put his head on Hannibal's chest, draping Hannibal’s arm over him. He felt as though he'd been cracked open a little bit, like an oyster shell, and hadn't yet closed back up. 

Hannibal looked down at him with surprise. He wrapped his arm securely around Will's shoulders and squeezed tight.

Will sighed in relief, tension draining from him. "Can you still eat one-handed?" he asked, his voice muffled against Hannibal's chest.

"I'm quite finished," Hannibal said softly and set his plate aside.

He curved both arms around Will and pulled him closer. Rested his cheek against the top of Will's head as Will settled comfortably into his embrace. It was profoundly satisfying, even better than the sex perhaps, that Will would come to him this way, for protection from the very vulnerability that he had provoked. 

As Hannibal carded his fingers through Will’s unruly hair, he was struck again by his clawing unbearable need for him. For his double-bladed beauty and his righteous violence. His incandescent heart and his singular mind. Will was his. _His._ He had to be. Will made a small unhappy sound and Hannibal realized he’d closed his hand too tightly in his hair. He made himself relax and rubbed his fingers soothingly across Will’s scalp.

“Do you have many tasks to accomplish before we can sail?”

Will shook his head, his soft beard brushing Hannibal’s chest. “Load our provisions. Pack whatever we’ve got laying around in here. Top off the fuel.” He paused to think if there was anything else, grateful for the distraction. "That's pretty much it. Then we can push off. I think we’ve already done everything else." 

Hannibal wanted to ask him if he was ready to go, or excited to go, or in some way pleasantly anticipating Belize, as he was, but he feared Will’s answer. Rather, he feared that a telling hesitation might precede his answer.

"I would like to shower once more before we go,” Hannibal commented instead. “We won't have such a nice shower again until we reach Belize."

"Together?" 

"If you like."

"I would."

“The little yellow house has a wonderful master bath,” Hannibal sighed. “I think you’ll like it. The tub is nearly deep enough to swim in.”

“Filled with hot water?” Will murmured.

Hannibal smiled down at him. “To the very brim.”

Will curved his leg over Hannibal’s. “And bubbles,” he added, almost too soft to hear.

Hannibal raised an eyebrow and tilted his head. “Bubbles?”

“Mr. Bubble,” Will muttered as the image of a bright pink bottle on a cold porcelain ledge flashed in his mind. Blue 70’s lettering and the singular scent of chemical sweetness. Someone was washing his back and there were bubbles in his hair and he was laughing.

Hannibal huffed in amusement at the thought of Will floating in a great cloud of pearlywhite soap bubbles. ( _terrible for the skin, those commercial bubble solutions_ ) He combed his fingers through Will’s hair. “Perhaps a little essential oil,” he offered. “To scent the water and make it silky.” ( _lavender maybe, or verbena. what’s growing in that garden this time of year?_ )

“Would you join me?”

“Hmm?”

“Would you join me in the bath?”

“Perhaps I might, if you asked very nicely,” Hannibal teased, tugging affectionately at one of his curls.

“And wash my back?”

“Anything you like, _cheri_.”

Will sighed and brushed his cheek against Hannibal’s chest again. He listened to the steady beat of Hannibal’s heart in the cathedral of his ribs. I love you, Will thought. I have loved you.

He could feel the weighted words stuck like a bone in his throat. How could he even think of speaking them out? It was monstrous and unforgivable. ( _what about abby and molly and walter? alana and jack? what about everything else, everything_?)  Terror twisted in his gut and he flinched from the question, the constant question- _my god what is this life?_ He closed his eyes and concentrated on making his breathing slow and even again, stilling the anxious rabbiting of his mind.

Hannibal synced his breath with Will's thinking, I love you, with each inhale and exhale. Thinking _ti amo_ , _je t'adore_ ,  _aš tave myliu_. Running the words though every language he knew. Safely confining their invasive thrust with each iteration, like a drop of poison in a glass bead. It was soothing and comforting, like he imagined praying the rosary might be.

Will swept his fingers through the curled strands of silver hair on Hannibal’s chest then slid his hand down over Hannibal’s slightly soft, furred belly, petting the little curve of it. Hannibal sighed contentedly and stretched, shifting to give Will more room. Will moved his hand further down until he felt the waistband of Hannibal’s cotton shorts and, just beneath that, coarse curls and the banked warmth of his cock. Will slipped his hand inside and brushed the tips of his fingers delicately over the half-hard flesh. Lifted the edge of the blanket to look beneath.

Hannibal shivered and glanced down at him, surprised again. "Will?"

"Hmm?"

“What are you up to?”

Will made a soft non-committal sound, a vague little shrugging motion.

Hannibal combed his fingers through Will’s hair, tugging a little to get his attention.  “Will?”

He stared into Will’s upturned eyes, but Will’s mind was opaque, clouded with forbidding fog. His body trembling lightly, lips parted as though he would speak.

“What is it?” Hannibal asked finally. “Tell me.”

Will shook his head and licked his lips. “I don’t know,” he whispered. “I don’t know.” He slid up the bed a little to rest his head on Hannibal’s shoulder. “I don’t want to talk about what I want. I just want…”

Hannibal pulled Will closer, enfolding him until there was only the slightest glimmer of light between their bodies. “Better?”

Will nodded. “Better.”

Hannibal shivered again as Will’s warm breath flowed across his skin. Will rubbed his cheek against Hannibal’s shoulder, nuzzled behind his ear, almost as though he were scenting him. Claiming him, like a little cat. Perhaps he wouldn’t shower before they left after all, Hannibal thought. It would be pleasant to smell Will’s sleepy spice on his own body as they made ready to sail. Will twined around him, pressing insistently closer as though he might fit himself inside Hannibal’s skin and disappear. Hannibal murmured soft wordless encouragement and held him tighter and tighter, nearly crushing the breath from him, until Will finally sat up and pushed him slightly away.

“I want…” Will said again.

“Anything you want,” Hannibal responded, arms open, inviting. “Always.”

Will wriggled out of his shorts and dropped them on the floor then knelt at Hannibal’s side. He crooked a finger under the waistband of Hannibal’s boxers and ran it all along the delicate soft skin beneath.

“Take these off?”

Hannibal swallowed and pulled his shorts down. Folded them in half and set them on the floor. He shifted back against the headboard and Will straddled his lap. He wrapped his fingers around Hannibal’s cock and stroked and stroked until it was standing stiff again, flushed and hard and throbbing. He squeezed it gently, experimentally, just to feel the responsive pulse of blood in his palm.

Hannibal’s mouth thinned tight against the rising tension as Will caressed him. It had never been like this in his life. Lust without limit. Lust for everything Will did and said and was. Unvanquished and nearly uncontrollable. Thrilling. And terrifying.

“I want you to come,” Will said softly, reeling Hannibal’s attention back. He reached behind himself to take Hannibal’s cock in his hand again, to press it against himself. “Want to make you come. Feel you... .”

Hannibal caught his arm quickly. “Wait, wait.”

Will’s face fell. “You don’t want…”

Hannibal cupped Will’s cheek, deep concern etched on his face. “I do, Will. Of course I do…” He reached across to the nightstand and handed Will the nearly empty bottle of slick.

“Give me your hand,” Will whispered.

He upended the bottle over Hannibal’s outstretched hand, drizzling the scant remaining lubricant over his fingers. He set the empty bottle aside. Wrapped his arms around Hannibal’s neck and tilted his hips back.

“Get me ready?” he murmured in Hannibal’s ear.

Hannibal groaned and let his eyes flutter closed as he did what Will had asked. Will held Hannibal’s stiff cock against his slicked opening and lowered himself slightly. Sucked in a sudden breath at the harsh stretch.

“Easy,” Hannibal whispered, rubbing his hand over Will’s lower back to gentle him. “Easy, Will. Go slow.”

“Feels different like this,” Will mumbled against Hannibal’s neck.

 “Yes,” Hannibal agreed, running a hand up Will’s thigh. “The angle is different. The depth. You can control it this way; take only what you want, what you need.”

Will shoved himself down hard, as though Hannibal had challenged him. Hannibal groaned again and threw his head back, hands tightening on Will’s hips. He bent his knees up slightly so that Will could rest against them if he wished. He put his free hand high on Will’s belly, carefully avoiding the disatrous dissecting scar, and guided his body back slowly.

“You may be too sensitive still,” Hannibal cautioned, “but if you lean back just a little…”

There was a sparking snapping shock as the head of Hannibal’s cock pressed firmly against his prostate and Will pulled up, almost completely away, shaking his head.

“Too much?”

“Too much,” Will panted.

Hannibal nodded and gathered Will close to his chest again. He brushed his lips over Will throat. “Rest here then and let me hold you, _vilkiukas_. That will make the contact less direct.”

Will wrapped his arms around Hannibal’s neck and rested his cheek against his silvered hair. He closed his eyes and felt the tense ripple of Hannibal’s desire and doubt. Hannibal’s powerful hands cradling his hips so he could not force himself to take his cock so hard and harsh. Hannibal rocking him gently, moving slowly inside him. Working blindly to make it good for him, to answer the need he had refused to discuss.

Tears pricked Will’s eyes and he leaned back a little to look down at Hannibal. Hannibal stared up at him, waiting airlessly. Will took Hannibal’s hand in his and slowly slid it from his hip to his belly until it covered the desperate scar that Hannibal had made such an obvious effort to avoid. He pressed Hannibal’s broad hand down against his warm skin and held it there.

Hannibal’s body twitched once, hard and involuntary, as though Will had grazed the back of his hand with the frayed end of an electrical wire. He paused to savor the unexpected permission, the unhoped for invitation. Then he swept his thumb hungrily over the raised edge of the scar. Will shivered and laced his fingers through Hannibal’s. Sighed and tossed his head back. On/off, he thought as Hannibal’s thumb swept back and forth over the scar like the scouring sea. On/off.

Hannibal trailed his free hand up Will’s back and along his side reaching for his cheek. He cupped Will’s jaw gently and brushed his thumb over his lower lip, stared hopelessly up into his wide eyes. Will gazed down at him, his face terrible in its compassion. It was almost apology and it was almost forgiveness. It was almost enough.

“You looked at me like this in the kitchen,” Will whispered shakily. “And you touched my cheek. You held me close, like this, while you gutted me. Do you remember?”

Hannibal’s throat worked against a surge of rage and heartbreak. “How could I forget, Will?” he answered hoarsely. “How could I possibly forget?”

He held his breath and waited for more. Waited for Will to pull away. Waited for the long-expected storm of grief and approbation. But no such cloudburst was forthcoming. It seemed Will was content, at least for the time being, with having secured another small acknowledgment of all that lay between them. One more narrow section of the disastrous total image. Hannibal both craved and dreaded its eventual completion.

Will pressed Hannibal’s hand tight against his belly once more and then let go and leaned forward to rest his forehead against Hannibal’s shoulder. Hannibal let out a long wistful sigh and stroked his fingers freely along the twisting path of the switchback scar. The most beloved scar of them all; the first. He wanted to kiss it. To lay Will down on his back and run his tongue along the thick raised flesh as if to highlight it and then, perhaps, to erase it. To relieve Will of it, should Will wish to be relieved.

Will tangled his fingers in Hannibal’s silky hair and tugged, pulling him back from pointless considerations of what might have been if they had done different, if they had _been_ different. He tilted Hannibal’s head up to claim a proper kiss from him. Cupped Hannibal’s smooth cheeks in his rough palms and opened Hannibal’s mouth with his tongue, kissing him and kissing him and kissing him until they were breathless.

Hannibal held Will’s body between his hands. One pressed lovingly to the length of the scar, the other at his back, helping Will move as he rolled his hips in counterpoint. Will’s cock was caught in the press of their bodies, the slick head rubbing over the slight curve of Hannibal’s belly, but it still wasn’t enough. His back felt horribly exposed and he could feel the flaming freezing curve of the linoleum knife tearing into his body, phantom blood running hot and thick down his belly and into Hannibal’s hand. ( _we couldn’t leave without you_ ) ( _you’re family, will_ ) He shoved his hips down hard, taking Hannibal deeper, trying to drive out the insidious sickening thoughts oiling along the floor of his mind. ( _you sent the dragon after my family)(you are my family_ )

“Shh, shh, shh,” Hannibal hushed him. “Stop a minute. Will. Stop for a minute.”

Will jerked in Hannibal’s hold again and looked down at him, eyes desperate. “Please. I need…”

Hannibal cupped Will’s face in his palms, looking into him. “I understand, I think. Let us try something else.” He dropped his hands to Will’s hips and encouraged him to rise up on his knees, holding the base of his cock and pulling out slowly.

“Hannibal, don’t…”

“It’s just for a moment. Come on, _cheri_. Kneel up for me.”

Will pushed up onto his knees, shuddering from top to toe as Hannibal withdrew and left him empty. Hannibal tossed one of the pillows onto the bed beside them.

“Come lie down,” he encouraged.

Will did as Hannibal asked, lying on his stomach with the pillow under his hips. A chill ran along expanse of his bare back as he waited for Hannibal’s weight, his warmth. He wanted to be covered by Hannibal’s body. Cradled and consumed. Invaded and obliterated. Hannibal slid one of his legs up, bending his knee and spreading him open, making him accessible.

“Yes,” he moaned, turning his head side to side. “Please.”

And then Hannibal was on top of him- the long line of Hannibal’s body all along his own- just as he’d wanted that morning. It was stabilizing and comforting, being held hard between the bed and Hannibal’s protective weight. He felt the blunt head of Hannibal’s thick cock pressing against his opening and then sliding slickly in, all the way in, filling him up.

“Oh my god,” Will whimpered, tipping his hips back into the implacable penetrating push. “That’s…. I can feel you everywhere."

Hannibal braced one forearm on the bed and wrapped the other under Will’s body, pulling him even closer. He took a deep aching breath and let it out, swiveling his hips, pushing in slightly and then pulling out the tiniest bit.

Hannibal sighed, kissing the back of Will’s neck, his ear, his shoulder. “Is this better? Is it what you wanted?”

“Yes,” Will groaned, trying to push back into Hannibal’s small thrusts. “I wanted…yes. This.”

Hannibal withdrew and pushed in firmly, carefully gliding past Will’s prostate without pressing down on it.

“Does that feel good? Or do you need…?”

“This. I need this. This is good. Stay with me. Stay in me.”

“I am, Hannibal murmured as he rocked his hips a little harder. ( _my_ _little one. little wolf_ ) “I am with you.”

Will squirmed as his orgasm started building at the base of his spine, wrenching involuntarily out of Hannibal's embrace.

“Don’t let me go,” he begged. ( _hold me down._ _don’t let me go._ )

Hannibal got his knees under himself and sat up suddenly, hauling Will upright into his lap and pulling him back against his chest. Will’s breath caught in his throat as his legs spread wide around Hannibal’s and his weight forced Hannibal’s cock deep. It hurt. It hurt and then it was wonderful. ( _oh god. oh my god. oh._ )

Hannibal wrapped his powerful arms tight and comforting around Will’s chest, nearly immobilizing him. The curve of his hand resting just at the base of Will's throat.

“There now,” he panted against Will’s shoulder. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you and you can’t go anywhere.” He kissed the curve of Will’s neck and closed his teeth lightly in the straining muscle. “Touch yourself,” he whispered. “Go on. I want you to come again. I want to feel you come.”

Will closed his eyes and stroked his cock in time with Hannibal’s steady inescapable rhythm.  He could give Hannibal what was left of him, he thought mindlessly as Hannibal pushed deeper into his body. Carve it out and let him hold it. Let him keep it. Let him take it away. Lock it away. Then he would be empty and safe.

Will’s whirling perilous thoughts fuzzed into static as his orgasm swelled and swelled. His body squeezing tight around Hannibal’s cock. Hannibal pulled Will down hard into his lap, his hips curving up as he shuddered and came inside him, cheek pressed to his shoulder. His arms closed around Will’s chest like steelwrapped rope until Will could barely breathe and then Will was coming in a breathless rush of bliss, back arched against Hannibal’s chest, thinking of nothing.

When he felt Will stop shaking, Hannibal pulled out gently and lay him carefully down on the bed then stretched out beside him.

“Perfect,” Will sighed softly. “That was perfect.”

Hannibal smiled faintly and wiped his hand across his eyes. He leaned up on his elbow and ran his trembling fingertips down the valley of Will’s spine. I love you, he thought helplessly. “You look relaxed now, _vilkiukas,_ ” he said instead. “Do you think you might sleep a little more?”

Will shook his head. “I’m not tired. Anyways our weather window… .” He made a strange tidal gesture with his hand then trailed off, tucking a pillow under his cheek and squirming comfortably into the feather bed.

Hannibal waited until Will had fallen into a profound sleep, then kissed his forehead and climbed out of bed to pack up the detritus of their accidental island holiday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mostly porn and feelings, I'm afraid.


	45. Chapter 45

When Will woke for the third time that day, the light pouring through the slatted window screens was bright and strong and the bedroom was empty. He stretched and yawned, feeling pleasantly refreshed and more than a little guilty at how late it was. They should have been out to sea hours ago. He balled up the comforter and piled it in the middle of the bed with the sheets and the used towels then carried the remnants of breakfast back to the kitchen. All of the sausage and the sliced fruit was gone and Will wondered if Hannibal had taken it down to the ship with him.

Will checked the closets and dresser drawers, but they had already been cleaned out. Their books and Hannibal’s drawing supplies were gone as well and the villa was beginning to look vacant again. It was time to go.

When Hannibal returned from the ship with fresh clothes, the bedroom was steamy and fragrant with the smell of woodsy soap. The bathroom door was cracked and a little haze of steam was pouring out into the villa’s cooler air, rising to twine thickly along the ceiling. Hannibal left his shoes and socks by the door and stepped into the bathroom.

Will ran his hands through his hair and arched his back, letting the hot water pour over him. He looked over his shoulder and gave Hannibal a sharpish inviting grin, then tilted his head, beckoning.

“Get in if you want.”

Will was well-defended again; his everyday armor closed over his soft underbelly. It was better this way, Hannibal admitted to himself with only a little disappointment. It had been tempting, far too tempting, having Will so open and vulnerable. Will might have asked him for anything, done _anything_. It was simply insupportable.

Hannibal stripped his clean clothes off and stepped into the shower. He wrapped his arms around Will from behind and slid his hands over Will’s chest and down to curve around his hips. He nuzzled into the hollow of Will’s neck, ran his tongue over the clear water pooling there.

Will sighed and tipped his head back. “We don’t have time. We’re getting a much later start than I wanted as it is.”

Hannibal wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him back flush against his big warm body, cupped his hand over Will’s soft cock.

“Oh,” Will groaned, rolling his hips forward, feeling his body struggle to respond to the pleasant pressure. “I don’t think I can go again so soon anyway.”

Hannibal chuckled. “Don’t fret, _cheri_. I couldn’t maintain an erection again just now. You’ve worn me out.”

“ _I_ wore _you_ out?” Will said incredulously, thinking of Hannibal working his fingers and then his cock into his body. Covering him and pinning him. Making him come and come and come.

Hannibal nipped at Will’s ear. “I’m not a young man anymore, you know. But it is hard to resist you when you're so warm and wet.” He trailed the back of his hand down along Will’s side, slid his fingers between his cheeks and pressed gently.

Will gasped and raised up on his toes a little.

“Sore?” Hannibal murmured against his back.

“Yeah. A little. But…” Will paused.

“But it’s good too, isn’t it?” Hannibal rumbled.

“Yeah,” Will said, tilting his hips into Hannibal’s gentle questing caress.

Hannibal pressed against the sensitive puffy opening with the tips of his fingers until he could feel it start to yield to the pressure. Will jerked away then rocked his hips back again, making a helpless mewling sound that sent a bolt of heat rushing through Hannibal’s body. Will crossed his arms on the tile wall and bent forward. He would let Hannibal have him again if he wanted. Sore or not. Late or not. ( _fuck our weather window_ )

Hannibal chuckled and withdrew his fingers. “I thought we didn’t have time.”

“We don’t,” Will murmured into his forearm. “Our weather window…”

Hannibal sank to his knees on the hard tile floor and spread Will’s cheeks apart firmly. “I thought you couldn’t _go again_ so soon.”

“I can’t,” Will keened as he felt Hannibal drag the flat of his tongue over his hole. “Oh. I can’t.” His cock twitched optimistically, but didn’t rise and Will made a pained protesting noise.

“And you’re so sore….” Hannibal teased, licking languidly along the slightly swollen, trembling rim.

“Am,” Will sighed again. “That feels good though. Your mouth. Your tongue.” ( _i should have done this for molly. when she said she was sore after, oh, i should have done this_ ) “Do you like this…after? I could do it for you next time.”

His eyes fluttered shut and he thought about pinning Hannibal face down on the bed as he had done the other night. ( _tie his hands behind his back…he would let me_ ) Kicking his legs apart and smacking his ass and fucking into him hard, hard until Hannibal was crying out. Then kneeling behind him and soothing the swollen sting with his mouth. His body clenched hard and he arched back against Hannibal’s soft tongue, lost in the little passion play behind his eyes.

Hannibal licked over Will’s opening, hot and wet and broadly soothing, and thought about _next time_. About Will coaxing him sweetly onto his belly, and petting him with that little look of concern he so often wore, and then licking into him with gentle apology. As if he’d taken something for himself that Hannibal hadn’t wanted to give. As though there were anything in the world Hannibal did not want to give him.

“Yes. I would like that,” Hannibal sighed.

He pulled back a little to kiss each cheek then closed his teeth gently in the curve of the muscle. If they kept going like this, they really would be sailing out in the dark, he thought. But he leaned in again anyway, shouldering Will’s legs further apart and pressing the very tip of his tongue into him.

“I thought you couldn’t go again either,” Will growled.

“That is unfortunately true,” Hannibal agreed. He gave Will’s opening a last lingering kiss and stood up, grimacing in irritation at the Judas creak in his knees. Will sagged against the cool tile wall sighing heavily with a mix of relief and regret. Hannibal gave him a smug sidelong smile. Reached past him to cup his hands under the water and splashed it across his mouth.

Will filled his hands with sandalwood lather and spread it over his chest. Hannibal pulled him into his arms just to feel the sleek slippery slide of their bodies. He pressed his smooth cheek against Will’s ravaged one as Will ran his slick soapy hands all over his broad scarred back and rose on his toes to rub the length of his body against Hannibal’s. Despite the late hour, they lingered under the luxurious fall of hot water, washing and caressing each other. Maintaining the persistent low hum of banked desire, just for the pleasurable promise of it.

*          *          *

“I have fresh clothes for you,” Hannibal called through the bathroom door.

“Yeah, I’m coming.”

Will toweled dry and dressed hurriedly in the clothes Hannibal had brought for him, happy to see the loose fitting shorts and t-shirt he usually wore, rather than one of Hannibal’s fitted yachting ensembles.

Hannibal had brought one of the small overnight bags back to the room with him, but there was hardly anything to put in it- Will’s shorts and undershirt, the damp toiletries, a charcoal pencil that had rolled under the table on the balcony. They made short work of it and Will sent Hannibal down to the ship ahead of him when it was done. Once he was alone, Will used one of the towels to wipe down doorknobs and light switches. The handles on the sinks and the refrigerator. Just in case.

As he walked out of the bedroom door, Will was struck with a sudden urge to take the crushed yellow trumpet flower with him. He could put it in his pocket and store it in his little cabin and no one would ever know. He glanced around the empty room, but he didn’t see the flower anywhere. Sentimental, he chastised himself as he trotted down the stairs towards the front door.

At the marina, Will topped up the fuel tank and filled two extra jerry cans for good measure. He hauled them on board and muscled them into the forward storage box, then he headed below to double check their supplies, their charted course, the weather reports.

Hannibal was stowing groceries in the galley. He’d already secreted a box of plain dark chocolate and a bottle of champagne in the lowermost cabinet behind a couple of jars of Georgia peaches he’d laid by years earlier. He toed the cabinet door discretely shut when he heard Will’s heavy tread crossing the teak deck.

After he set their course, Will poked his head into the kitchen. “Hey. Come up and help me get underway?”

Hannibal nodded and brushed his hands off and followed Will up the companionway.

Once above, Hannibal did what Will told him to do. Together they untied bow and stern lines at the dock and tossed them up. Hannibal was momentarily captivated by the educated flex and turn of Will’s body as they double reefed the main sail. He could see the joy of the work rising in him with the wind off the sea.

At Will’s instruction, Hannibal used the windlass to weigh anchor. Will paused to watch it rise, dragged dripping from the ocean floor on its clanking steel chain, dangling muck and seaweed. Then he raised the staysail to stabilize the ship's drifty unanchored sway.

He gestured for Hannibal to join him at the sails once the anchor was stowed. They let the wind fall off and the ship started moving slowly out of the marina. When they were in the clear, they shook out the reefs together and let the light air fill the sails.

Will put his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels, surveying his ship. He scanned the vast ocean before them and the slowly receding coast of the cape behind. This was far different than leaving the Chesapeake or Fort Story, he thought. Different even than leaving Inlet Peninsula. Cape Eleuthera had been a wonderful unexpected rest, but he was keen to move on. South to catch the trades then west through the Caribbean Sea to Belize. Belize and, well, whatever else waited for them after that.

Will set his hands on the tiller and looked over at Hannibal. “Ready?”

“I’m in your hands.”

“Yes. You are.” Will smiled and took them out into the deep water again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it for part one!  
> Part two of this three parter will pick up with the boys a ways into their great sea crossing.  
> Thank you to everyone who came this far with me. I hope to see you a little further on down the line.

**Author's Note:**

> My entire knowledge of sailing comes from one summer at sleep-away camp so bear with me.


End file.
